


Augury's Sire

by FeltLikeWritingAndHereIAm



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Albinism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Characters are tagged in order of appearance, Found Family, I'm sprinkling clues in the tags and you guys have no idea what for, Multi, Neurodivergent Piero Joplin, Slice of Life, accidental adoption, partial albinism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 84,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeltLikeWritingAndHereIAm/pseuds/FeltLikeWritingAndHereIAm
Summary: Piero saw him die in his dreams multiple times, it was time to take a stance. So, he goes where he knew the boy would perish, and plucked him out of death’s grips, irrevocably changing the empire.The lonely rat boy isn’t so lonely anymore.Alternatively:Piero has prophetic dreams y’all, why are we sleeping on this?!
Relationships: Lonely Rat Boy & Delilah Copperspoon, Lonely Rat Boy & Piero Joplin, Lonely Rat Boy & The Outsider (Dishonored), The Outsider & Piero Joplin, Too complicated to explain in a tag
Comments: 28
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was completely inspired by [Tales from Dunwall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzY9TaNUBHo)  
> I recommend watching that first before reading, as it would kind of explain half of the things happening in this fic.

Piero's dreams are incomprehensible on the best of nights.

Back when he was a child, unknowing of the true meaning behind the dark blue streaks of the drifting waters, or the black rock formation protruding in every which way, he would take nightly treks into the other side to meet someone.

He can barely remember them, that mysterious visitor. Although, he can hazard a guess as to who they may be.

His childhood had been filled with nothing but bed rests and stacks of books his mother managed to steal away from the nobles she had worked for. He could not leave their dwellings when most mornings he would wake with trembling hands and blurry vision.

He’d whine, and he’d beg for her to stay longer.

Every single time, he would see the hard decision in her eyes before leaving the house. She worked hard for the medicines and the physician’s visit. She did her best for him.

Piero was too late to show her how much he appreciated her.

They said it was the over-exhaustion that had taken her. He still blames himself even now for her untimely demise.

His dreams would twist into nightmares. He would see her face as she looks at him in disappointment. The way those eyes judged him as he continues his studies, the way it judged him as he managed to kick another fellow student out of the academy, the way it judged him as he was expelled.

When it wasn’t the nightmares, it would default back to his childhood dwelling, of cities crumbled with its front standing for all to see, of stairways and islands connecting to nothing above the vacuum, of defining moments of history contained within bubbles.

It comes, it goes, life continues.

He had been disgraced as he was expelled from his researcher’s position. It had been a bitter affair, but the damage had been done, no respectable establishment would willingly employ a man personally discredited by Anton Sokolov himself.

It took a while for him to find his footing, where he ends up building commission work for seedy individuals and gangs alike. Then the gang members would come to him for a physician’s work when they couldn’t afford a legitimate one. They would bring their ailing children as well, or he would go to them instead.

It was then when he noticed a sudden alarming rise of sickness, especially among the slums.

“We are only sure that they have it once they start coughing,” he once had to explain to a benefactor and relation. One of her lieutenant’s children caught it, and the man had been tending to them still. The leader wanted a solution when they realized that it spread quickly. “Earlier symptoms I have managed to glean over is the discolored of the skin, loss of an alarming amount of weight, and thinning or fall of hair.”

“You’re telling me that we can’t tell if they’re sick?”

“On healthier individuals, it would have been easier. However, these people or already struck with poverty, they are already thin and have little to no hair, and barely have access to hygiene. The only way I can tell is from the sound of their coughs. It feels obstructed when they do, heavier mucus-”

The gang leader slammed her fists on his desk, making Piero flinch.

What was he to say?

“What about cough medicine?” The woman’s voice was now begging, but Piero shook his head sadly.

“What am I going to tell my men?”

“Tell them to avoid anyone who seemed to have caught it. If their family caught it, they need to isolate themselves so as to not spread it.”

Not much else could be said, his benefactor, his last living relative, ebbs away with a heavy sigh under her usually scornful and vindictive voice.

Then something changed.

It spreads.

The symptoms escalate further, the coughing turns into non-cognitive behavior. The sick slowly lost their sense of self, their sense of everything around them. Piero studies them closely, much closer than any other person was willing to do so.

Anyone with the sickness would come to him in the vain hope of some sort of cure, which he would deny, but then he would ask if they would volunteer themselves to find a solution.

Some are willing, some want to die in dignity away from scrutinizing eyes.

Their lungs would give away, their mind erodes, and they are left on the table dying. He would continue to study the corpse until it smelled too much, then his benefactor’s men would come, carefully wrap the body, and throw it away.

Some of those men caught the sickness. They all died.

Piero was the only one willing to study it, and seeing how easily they all fell, he strides up to the leader’s office, knocks on the door, enters, and declares his isolation.

She would give him a dark scathing look.

“Piero,” she starts, but he shook his head.

“Cousin, your men keep dying, I cannot allow this to continue. We need a cure, but not on your behalf.”

“I can send other men, there’s a boy in Clavering, his gang’s getting lots of men in them recently. He’s the one who killed Mike the Fish long ago.”

“… Do you mean Slackjaw?” Who hasn’t heard of the man who killed at least four gang leaders? Even Piero, who spent most of his time in the labs studying away, would hear the gossip of his cousin’s men behind the lab’s doors of how he got rid of them. “Wait, _he_ killed Mike?”

“The Fish was weak, killed by a shark hook,” she rolls her eyes but crossed her arms as she leans back on her table. “What do you say, cousin?”

“I do not want to get into his bad side if I managed to kill his men.”

“It’s not you who’s killing them,” she sighs, shaking her head. “It’s this damned disease. People say it’s the rats’ fault.”

“Who thought of that?” He questioned, although it made sense. They could be an ideal carrier, especially under the city. Usually, people would say it was the water or the miasma. He shook his head, he will think of this later. “Be that as it may, I do not want to cause more problems for you than I have already done.”

“Listen, Piero, it’s getting wild outside. More people are getting sick, losing jobs, the watch is using their new shiny whale oil guns,” the both of them scowl. His cousin because of the life loss she experienced from those weapons, Piero because he knew distinctively who built it. “You can barely wake up alone in the morning. I don’t know how Aunt Muriel kept up with it for so long.”

“Sally, _don’t._ ”

He's never raised his voice, simply couldn’t. His throat would rasp and his voice would thin out into a reedy pitch that would sound painful to anyone who heard it. He had to contend himself with being unable to speak over anyone throughout his days in the academy, where he couldn’t ask his questions to his professors during the lecture and had to wait by their offices for clarifications. Yet, it always had a distinctive quality to it, an unearthed reserve of sorts, laced by something unfeeling, as he was told when he was a child.

He doesn’t enjoy expressing displeasure, not to those close to him.

But his cousin was getting into sensitive territory.

“I’m just saying, I’d feel a tad better if you had someone watching over you.”

“So, you will send me to a man who kills his problems?”

“Do you have a better idea? What if an overseer came around with one of them music boxes again?”

Piero fell silent.

What if indeed.

“Your remedy doesn’t help all that much.”

“It helps enough.”

“Does it? Does it actually help?” She questioned, stepping closer to him, her voice now edging to hostility. “Cause you wake up screaming sometimes and you barely remember your days.”

“It’s only in the mornings,” Piero whispers, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You need to figure out a new solution, that thing is a failure.”

Piero huffs then left her office.

The next morning, his lab is empty, and he found an apartment in the old waterfront. Draper ward was turning into a hovel, especially with how the dead eels and hatter gangs started battling each other. Still, nobody dared to bother him for protection money or such, especially not when he was willing to help both sides and provide with items unbiased, especially not when he used to work for Black Sally of all people.

Sally did not follow, did not try to bring him back. She knew she crossed a line and she should still be glad that Piero still fixes up her machines when she needed repairs.

He would still see glimpses of her men roaming around his neighborhood from time to time.

As the months pass, the sickness becomes dire, and Piero witnessed the appearance of something implausible.

The Weepers emerged.

People with bleeding eyes moaning as they claw themselves at any live person.

Piero has done the mistake of getting closer to a live one, and the thing lunged at him, coughing black bile with insect buzzing insistently into his ears.

He screamed so loudly that night, as the thing’s hand almost pierced his chest.

Then, the thing was shot in the head, by a city watch officer who was surprisingly good-hearted and had been patrolling nearby. His partner comes in, sees the predicament Piero was in and the bloodied garb he wore with the splatters of black bile mixed in, and declared that Piero is now infected.

“It will be a mercy to kill him now.”

“No! He looks healthy!”

“For now,” they continue to argue, but Piero shook his head as he stood up, trying to dust away the dirt uselessly, nothing will take care of the blood. Their fight was close to getting into blows, and Piero doesn’t fancy himself as mincemeat on the ground, so he tiptoes his way out before either could notice.

He had become curious.

So many around him had fallen ill, and he had personally faced a weeper, was attacked and vomited on by one, yet the only sickness he shows was his morning routine filled with confusing and trembling limbs. It hasn’t necessarily become worse, it only does when the dream is deeper.

Was he one of the few rare? Is a person immune from the rising sickness encompassing the city? Did his dreams, in a way, save him from the demise snatching the lives of others?

He had somewhat been blessed with better nights since he left Sally’s hideout.

Until he dreams of the boy.

A boy who crawls himself into an empty corner of the city before giving up and smiling as he lets his eyes weep in blood.

Piero woke up that night feeling cold, his fingers were but freezing trembling digits that couldn’t even grasp his blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like stories about making a family (evident by going through my works).  
> I also love tormenting characters (also evident by going through my works).  
> \--  
> When I started this out, I actually had a headcanon about Piero. This isn’t the first fic I have of him (none are posted … yet?)  
> I have two de-aging fics. Don't remember what inspired those, but one of them as a second version of this fic. Like I said, I like stories where family bonds are made, so the second version is basically Piero giving up his life force to save the lonely rat boy. Only for it to end up deaging him. So, I was kind of on the fence on choosing which fic to post. Ended up posting this one.  
> The other de-aging fic was an alchemy accident. *shrugs*
> 
> So, yeah, headcanon for this one. Piero’s related to a gang member, and that’s why he’s alright with selling stuff in the black market and building weapons. Plus, getting thrown out to the world, especially one like in Dishonored, tends to mess a person up.


	2. Chapter 2

It has not happened.

He knew it has not happened.

He knew that it _will_ happen.

Piero had run away from Draper Ward’s Waterfront that night when the weeper had almost gotten to him. He did not want to tempt fate, did not need the watch to find him and recognize him. So, he moved, trusting his cousin Sally into keeping his apartment safe away.

The dreams kept on haunting him.

It was a boy shrouded in shadows and the dark blue tendrils of the never after. The boy’s eyes were a bright blue, gleaming with otherworldly essence, so similar to the oil they readily burn every day, so similar to the pistol glow of an officer that almost aimed for his head.

He feels better by the river, he noticed once he managed to find an apartment by the shore. It wasn’t easy, as the sickness starts to spread far too quickly for anyone to react.

He watched as ships upon ships leave the city, condensing so much that one would think that it was an armada ready to fight, if only it wore Gristol’s flag. The rich that could, that owned a home outside of the city where it was usually only visited in summer, left. The poor that had relations depended on it for new jobs in either Serkonos or Morley. No one would ever go to Tyvia with its cold bitter winds.

And there were the desperate, ready to give up everything for a chance of life.

The rest, however, stuck by the city. They were all of Dunwall, if the city falls, so do they.

Piero continues to roam as his nightmares have come back two folds. The little child crying a trail of blood but smiling as he lay on the ground taking his last breath.

The dreams would transform, letting the corpse sizzle into nothing but crimson lines with a distinct shape that he couldn’t fathom.

Not until they raised the first blockade.

Piero stares silently at the sign, an x shape that had been shaded on the top corner, before looking back down on the ground as he imagined a boy who would melt away to the same shape.

He sat on the bar that night, caressing his ring, staring ahead, afloat in his mind.

Then comes a tap on his shoulder, and the bartender gestures to a couple of men on the side of the bar.

“They say they’re looking for someone with certain skills,” he mentions. The bartender was Artemis, a man he had come to know and deal with. His rates for rooms were discounted in the pub, and Piero would use his place as a base of operations of sorts, for receiving commissions and drop-offs.

“I am willing.”

He had to depend on himself since he left his cousin. Sally usually provided him with what he needed if they could manage to find it, and he lived in her hideout as he tended to her men’s injury and weapon maintenance.

Since their fight, however, he had to find another way to work.

He would take the bag, let the man lean closer to him, whispering into his ears what they would need. He would suppress the shivers and shielded his mind from any forthcoming emotions.

A poison was nothing, he was a chemist first and foremost, and he would have made far worse concoctions if he were allowed to do so. Aphrodisiacs, however, made his stomach queasy, and the last time he had refused, the unsavory attitude of his would-be patron left him afraid of his shadow for weeks.

Then, came the devastating news that left the community – If not the public, then the Natural Philosophers of the world – reeling in shock as they announced the death of one Esmond Roseburrow.

They never announced what had killed him, many had speculations, Piero knew that his death came from the end of the barrel.

It was a bubble of time, forever frozen in front of him. An aging old man sitting on his desk, holding a pistol in his hand, with one single bullet on the table. There had been a letter in front of him, written in meticulous handwriting, and signed in his name.

The pistol had been old, ancient compared to other modules; Piero noted idly as he turned around his desk.

He picked the thing from the man’s hands and dissected the weapon with his eyes, finding faults in its designs. He cannot help but feel disgusted by it, by how basic it was. He places the pistol back into the man’s hands.

“It seems that great men think alike,” a voice trilled into his ears.

Piero did not bother turning around to see who it was. He is all too familiar with this voice.

“Then that must mean Sokolov is beneath the dirt. However, seeing as he clings onto life so desperately,” Piero says snidely, grinning maliciously at his own words.

Oh, how he hated him.

“Why would I ever think of that man?” The voice questioned, amused, and Piero felt the slight twinge of pain around his neck.

A shiver ran through him, and he grabbed onto his neck as he fell onto his knees. The desk and dead man turn into starlight, dispersing into oblivion, leaving nothing but the rocks and dirt beneath Piero’s feet.

He let go of his neck, his palms now touching the ground as tears willed upon his face.

“You continue to struggle, despite coming so close.”

“ _Stop,_ ” he begged.

Piero lies down on the ground now, wet droplets falling from his eyes as he hugged himself, trying to bring some measly warmth to his shaking arms.

“It- It was an invention.”

“Was it?”

“It was!” It was.

“You wished that it failed.”

“It did not.”

“Why would it? You are, after all, a brilliant man,” the voice breathed. “Tell me, my dear Piero, would you have used it yourself if you were to be hanged?”

No.

Piero would smile as they would read whatever crimes they would blame him for, would smile if it were the overseers themselves reading the structures to him before they take away his ground and let his feet dangle in midair.

He would smile.

Like how that boy had smiled.

No wonderous vest that would trick others into thinking that his demise was successful, no acid to eat away at the ropes or chains holding him, no machines with projectiles to free him from the stand.

Only oblivion, and his consciousness fading into the cosmos as his corpse dangles for the entertainment of the masses.

Here lies Piero Joplin, the crackpot Natural Philosopher.

He wakes the next morning, knowing that Esmond Roseburrow’s death was self-inflicted, just not how. Maybe it was simple intuition, after all, great minds think alike.

He continues on, remembering the vest he had made long ago, for a man who was is sent to the gallows. Sally had wanted the impression that he was dead so that his body can be recovered later when they throw it away. Piero rubbed his face, his hands dragging down to his chins as the rough scruff of an old and crudely shaved beard made itself present.

He wonders how Griff is doing.

He goes back to his work, finishing the commission, bleeding eyes crying in the back of his mind.

** 0o0o0 **

He gets the chance to write and publish an article, he takes it upon himself to announce a plague. The publisher was an old friend, and joyed in raining havoc among the upper crust of society and the government for throwing him out whenever he wanted to publish something slightly uncomfortable.

It was how they met, and how Piero learned of others as misfortunate as he.

So, he pens down the article with his name, and the man prints the paper.

Of course, none of the people in power are happy, especially when the sickness only confined itself to this of lower status than themselves. Why should they care if it does not hurt them?

Thus, Piero found himself in an odd situation, where a guard demands his presence in front of the apartment building he currently resided in. He grins bitterly as he steps outside, knowing full well where this would lead. This was not the first time he had been dragged out in front of the public to be disgraced. Already, he can see his neighbors peeking from their windows, and other dwellers pausing in their walks to witness the scene.

As the guards announce his crimes, which included the spread of lies and slander to cause alarm and fear in the city, the other readies his fist to knock him unconscious.

Piero breathes in and closed his eyes.

Whatever pain the guards inflict, it will not be more painful than his mornings.

Then, a rock flew, hitting the guard’s head.

The moment their attention had been stolen away, Piero watches in fascination as a bottle filled with what could only be flammable liquor sails away across the air, and a fire erupts in front of him.

He could not help but watch as the guards scream as they are burned, alive, right in front of him. The next thing he knew, someone pulls on his shoulders, and he was whisked away.

He had lost his spectacles during the commotion and had been walking blind for days afterward. He depended upon the voices that had been leading, a man who hadn’t dared to share his name with him. It didn’t matter much, Piero knew from the way the others around them spoke, the distinct accent and turn of phrases, that he had been rescued by a gang.

He wonders if it was his cousin or someone else entirely.

“You see, when you published the papers, explaining the sickness and how it starts and ends, it made others more cautious. Black Sally asked us to watch over you if anyone tries any funny business,” the man had told him. Piero had been squinting at him, but to no avail. He still nods, accepting his explanation.

“What happens now?”

“Till she comes by to pick you up, you’d be stuck here.”

“Oh … alright. It should be about time she would lose her patience with me. I thought it would happen sooner.” The other hasn’t answered, probably staring at him, perplexed by his nonchalant way of addressing the most terrifying woman in Dunwal. After a few minutes filled with silence, he frowns. “I can hear the distillery machines above us. May I use them to brew a remedy of mine?”

“A remedy, you say?”

“Yes, for my … it is something that people with ailing minds use, I take it daily.”

It had been rather rough on him the last few days, although it didn’t entirely work, at least he barely remembers what he dreamed of the next morning, the only blessing his remedy had brought him.

“Is that what’s been keeping you healthy?”

“In a sense, I suppose.”

“Then why aren’t you sharing it with the others? Letting all those men die of the plague while you work without worry?” The voice now sounded close to anger, and Piero frowns.

“Ex- Excuse me?”

“You heard me, leaving those people to bleed out of their fucking eyes while you’re living your life-”

“My remedy only helps with brain illnesses,” Piero cuts him off. He then took a moment to comprehend what the other had said. “However, if what you’re implying is true, we should- we should test it out.”

It took a week to make a batch and start testing, it also took a week for his cousin to appear, with a new pair of spectacles. She told him that her man described what happened and had been shaking her head in complete befuddlement as they test out their hypothesis.

Piero gratefully accepts the spectacles and sighs in relief as the headache slowly recedes. He turns around to finally look at his savior-

And choked in his own saliva as he was met with a well-built figure, strong square jaws covered with a finely shaved beard, and an ever-present frown in his eyes as he stares down at him.

He knew the man was tall, but actually seeing him now had hammered it in.

“Piero, cousin,” this had caused a reaction from the man as he stares at him in bewilderment. “This is Slackjaw, I’m plenty sure he hasn’t introduced himself.”

“He- He hasn’t.”

“Thanks for taking care of my twig of a cousin. Natural Philosopher he may be, but he lands in more problems than he should. Honestly, publishing that when-”

“They have to learn about it! They cannot continue to ignore the sickness.”

“Well, you almost got yourself in the chopping block, and I don’t want to bother myself with getting you out of that.”

“What’s the difference,” Piero grumbles. “All you would do is behead them instead of letting them behead me.”

“And with who’s weapons?”

“You know,” he says, now trying to hide the exasperation in his voice. “I am suddenly struck with the fact that grandfather wouldn’t have liked how either of us ended up.”

It took a month later to declare that his remedy had disease preventative agents in it, and Slackjaw all but arm-wrestled him into gaining the brewing rights to the formula. After much contemplation, he shrugged and agreed. It wasn’t as if any other brewery would accept his formula, who would? Especially from him? A man who despite having all the documents declaring him a fine Natural Philosopher was still distinctly known as the crackpot?

Slackjaw would at least sell it for cheap to the people that needed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, a baby.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn’t matter if there was a way to prevent it from spreading if you had already caught it. It didn’t matter if you drank the elixir if you couldn’t continue to drink it.

By then, Piero had been moved back to Waterfront, watching as the watch oppressed the city, and the unmistakable rise of poverty, as people beg for something to save them from ailing times. The government still wouldn’t declare the spread, and Piero watched in disillusionment.

There are rats that can eat a man whole, which fascinated him. They were not native to Dunwall, obviously, not with its bulk and color. He corresponded the rise of sickly individuals with the increased witness of their appearances.

It truly had been the rats.

As he slept, he watched in bemusement as a horde of them gnaws its teeth on flesh, the victim agonizing and screaming as they try to crawl away. Their bodies lack limbs, stripped of skin and muscles, their bones protruding from missing meat.

They were all dinner to these rodents.

Humans were less than rodents-

He floats slowly in the world that wasn’t, spies the little rat’s dark malicious eyes up close. That’s when he noticed one rodent breaking away from the heard, and he flinched at the sight of the boy.

He was there, arms raised, holding a white rat in his other, and was going to get bit if he was not careful-

When Piero woke up, he had the sense to go search the streets for that horde of rats.

He _needed_ to.

He ignored the newsboy as he announced the start of the plague as his feet touched the cobblestones of the city.

It was far too late for that, the disease had already settled well within, this late announcement will do nothing but cause more panic. The only reason they even admitted it is because of the concerning closure of many businesses with their workers now gone and sick.

He walks the back alleys, the city was a maze of them, but he knew exactly where his feet needed him to go.

And that’s when he sees it.

The blood splattering on the ground as the creatures feast, and a little boy standing next to it, arms raised-

Piero had seen this happen.

This boy had tortured his dreams for far too long, _far_ too long. He forgot what sleep had been like, and to see the moment finally happen in front of him-

He decides, **_no!_**

Just as a rat broke off from the horde, Piero ran.

The boy’s silent scream filled his face as he watched the thing jump at him.

And Piero trips on his feet, capturing the child in his arms in time, and they both tumble away.

He didn’t wait, the rats were almost finished with their meals, and he did not stay behind to face more of those things. He simply picked the boy up, minding his pet rat, and jumped onto a pile of trash beside them.

The boy had been shaking, and so were his own arms.

The things kept scuttling around them, awaiting their descent.

“What were you even doing so close up to those things!” He yelled, as loud as his straining throat would allow, now feeling frustrated. “Did you not see how vicious they were?!”

The boy was silent, staring at him in confusion before looking down.

There was a pile of freshly stripped bones nearby.

With the lack of any way to escape, Piero sat down, the boy still held between his arms. He rests the side of his head with one arm, elbows propped on his knees, contemplating.

They are about to become nothing but nutrients for rodents, how will they escape?

He was not sure how long they have stayed there, but it had become colder, and the sun had shifted its position in the sky. The rats were merciless and kept at their pace around them. The child had relaxed himself in his presence and was now unabashedly staring at him, hugging his pet into his chest.

After a while, he made a noise of frustration.

“If you are wondering, I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

Which was an odd thing to say, he must admit. He wasn’t part of the oracular order; he was not a woman either.

He simply was, as he is, wherever he stood or sat or slept.

But the boy’s face split into a smile and relaxed even more before shyly offering his hand. Piero frowns for a moment before accepting it, thinking that it was a handshake.

Then he paused, and stared, slowly mortified at the tattoo etched onto the back of the child’s palm.

He knew this name-

This sign.

He looks above, at the darkening sky, and cursed the dark-eyed heathen.

The boy was a heretic, a _witch._ Although, it may not have been his own choice.

Piero remembers long ago, of boys thrashing his belongings, laughing at him as he cried.

_“A witch!”_

_“He’s from the rows, all they do is listen to the songs and play with whale bones they carved up-”_

_“Don’t get too close, he’ll curse you!”_

_“Is this a charm?”_

“You,” Piero starts, his voice turning slightly, unable to control his pitch anymore. “Never show this sign to _anyone._ Especially overseers. Understand?”

The boy’s expression turned confused, but he slowly nods.

Piero gulps, and he pats his hand.

“Please, you have to understand, people become unkind when they see this mark. At least, people who know what it means, and they are usually powerful people.”

They had stayed silent since, and once the skies filled with starlight and the city became silent, luck finally comes to them … in the price of misfortune towards a guard who patrolled this part of the district.

The man couldn’t even scream as the rats jumped at him. Piero took this moment to grab onto the boy’s hand and start running out of the alleyway. They haven’t stopped, and he wouldn’t let them, not even if the boy tripped, not if he himself tripped. He’d push the boy and tell him to continue, to leave before the rodents could get him. He’d pull the little child, too thin to be considered healthy, without pausing in his steps.

Once they were safe, Piero found himself standing underneath an arc light, holding hands with a little boy who still looked at him with wide puzzled eyes.

The boy had walked ahead of him afterward, and Piero, despite his busy schedule, did not leave him alone. Not when he spent a whole day almost devoured by a swarm trying to save this ill-fated child. They had trekked deeper within the alleyways until they reached a part where it was mostly abandoned.

The cobbled stone had makeshift beds made out of old ragged sheets and pillows. There was a pit in the middle, scorched rocks surrounding the charcoal from old burned wood and the ash of whatever other items deemed unnecessary to anyone’s survival.

But further away, Piero can see the boy stepping closer to a shrine, draped in purples and surrounding with oil lamps.

He touched the rune settled on it, and Piero can feel something shift in the air.

Feeling slightly dizzy, and unable to carry himself for some odd reason, he walked towards the makeshift bed and sat on it as he rests his head between his hands. He felt a headache slowly emerging, and he can hear whispers, of a little human child and an old ancient being that he couldn’t quite discern.

It had reached a point where Piero knew that if he stabbed his own ears with a pen, the pain would be indistinguishable from the one in his head.

It suddenly stops.

The boy sits next to him, expression alighted. He gives him a shy smile as he offers him an unopened tinned can of brine fish.

“No, eat it, I don’t need …” He hasn’t eaten all day.

Still, this was obviously the homeless boy’s only food, and Piero wasn’t desperate enough to take it from him.

Looking around, he frowns as he noted that the rune wasn’t on the shrine anymore before turning. The little white mouse had been digging near the fire pit, and the bed they were on felt far too dirty. Looking down on the boy, with his somewhat short stature and patched clothes, he sighs, and made a decision that will change his life forever.

“Do you want to come and live with me?”

** 0o0o0 **

The transition had been awkward.

Filled with shy little steps and hesitance from the child’s side, and clumsy unanswered conversation from Piero’s own. It seemed that the boy doesn’t speak, or he was afraid to do so.

The first thing they had done was eat, something cooked for once. The boy had been reluctant before he realized that yes, he _can_ eat what he sees on the table. His chin dripped with the soup that Piero had made from the remaining fish eye he had of the fish, crushed and seasoned with salt and weed that was from the shores. He couldn’t help but sigh before grabbing his handkerchief and ran over the child’s face.

The second order of business was giving him a bath. The boy sat awkwardly in the wooden tub before Piero came back with an alkali formula that he managed to turn into soap from whale oil factory remnants. It had been a point of pride to himself when he first made it, soap is exclusively for the well to do, and limited to specialized shops only. They could buy it if they saved up, but what for?

Sally had been making a profit off of these.

The boy had been all too impressed at how smooth his skin felt as he slides his finger across his arms, Piero had been none too pleased with how the water turned brown, knowing fully well that he will need a couple of baths before the boy is entirely clean for his comfort.

The third objective had been to sleep. He had given up his bed to the boy, and the happy expression lit in his face had made Piero’s own darken, remembering the situation outside of his apartment door. He had seen too many people in the slums as they slept on the cold hard ground, and had been very well informed of how lucky he had been despite his own hardship.

A week later, they had formed a sort of routine.

Wake up.

Eat breakfast, probably the only meal they had for the day.

Decide to bath then or at night.

Piero would start on his studies, trying to cross-check his ingredients with anything that could potentially solve the illness. The boy would watch him in stark interest as he continues to write and say his thoughts out loud.

Sometimes, he would leave to the distillery, it would take half a day to reach the other side of the river without a boat, but it was either that or go to Sally’s place.

And he does not want to explain the presence of a little boy trailing him.

He felt too ashamed for some odd reason.

Slackjaw only quirked his brow at him the first time and didn’t say more. The boy had been, in a manner of speaking, _assisting_ him. Carrying his notes whenever he had to carry something else, bringing him the tools he thought was needed, and sometimes just points at something and looked at him curiously, asking for an explanation.

One day, the gang leader had pulled him aside.

“Something’s funny about that boy,” he said, tilting his in the child’s direction. Piero frowned at him, then shrugged. “Slackjaw can’t put it in his hands, but it’s unsavory. Feels like the night itself bowed under his steps.”

“Slackjaw,” Piero said, voice exasperated. “He is a child. I found him when a swarm of rats was about to devour him. I admit, some of his attitudes are unpleasant, but I have reasoned that it must be from living in the streets for so long.”

He intentionally mentioned the homelessness to a man who was known to have gone through the same thing. Slackjaw had fallen silent, stroking his chin, where his mutton chops didn’t reach, and then left him along to join the child. Said child had been drawing on the ground with a stick, with another gang member staring above his shoulders.

Piero very well knew why people didn’t take kindly to the boy at first.

The name, tattooed on his hands, now covered in gloves that he had to scour for, explained everything. The sense of the void lingering on him, leaving those who are more inclined to the occult weary. Piero rubbed the back of his neck as he grimaced.

Marked by the outsider himself, and sometimes having conversations, if the improvised shrine in his old room were to be any indication.

But Pier felt that he couldn’t say anything to him. He was a man of Natural Philosophy, not one who divulged himself into the occult and spiritualism.

He remembers days spent on the waters of the rows, watching corpses of whales getting dragged by the boats to start cutting it, taking all the meat and discarding the bones. He remembers of nights where people discreetly come back to steal away some of it back, to hammer in a rune, a name.

Every night, when he dreams, he called his waking self a fool and a hypocrite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a dystopian world that's on the verge of an apocalypse in the eyes of its citizens, and now Piero has to take care of a kid.  
> Being flexible is an important skill.


	4. Chapter 4

It took two months, for Sally to confront him.

He had come back after receiving a new commission from Artemis’s bar and froze in place once his eyes landed on the child as he swung the knife in his hands.

A new knife.

Sally had been smiling softly at him, fixing his wrist before telling him to repeat it.

“Cousin …” Piero called meekly, stepping closer. Sally, in all her infamous glory, had raised her head and gave him a sickly sweet smile.

“Why, Piero, when would you have told me of my new nephew?”

“He isn’t-” his tongue tangled into itself.

“Aunt Muriel would have been devastated, knowing that you’ve had a child out of wedlock.”

“No. Sally, listen. I just found him in the streets and I- I couldn’t leave him, he was- he was-” He choked, unable to continue.

Sally had murdered a man simply because they looked at her funny. This had been one of the main reasons why he _hasn’t_ badgered her as much as he could have. Cousins they may be, but Piero knew full well how odd he was even among their relatives when they were once alive.

“What’s his name?” She settles back, just in time to notice the odd and somewhat cautious expression that had covered the child’s face.

“He has not told me yet, I do not think he has one.”

“Well, we can’t keep calling him boy,” she snarks.

“I’ve been thinking Willard …” He admits morosely, and Sally fell silent, blinking, looking at him with the same unearthly expression he held at times. He looks away, unsettled. “In memory of Grandfather, I suppose.”

“Not a Serkonan name?”

“I … I never even visited Serkonos, why would I- I- use a name from a-”

“Relax,” Sally sighs, seeming to deflate with all the exhaustion her position gave her. “I didn’t mean to rile you up like that.”

“I never even met him, why would I use a name from his culture,” he said, feeling cross. He gestured for the child to come closer, and the boy does, hands clutched with the knife and all. He sends a glare at his cousin. Piero promptly gives up on the motion of getting rid of the weapon after seeing how attached the child had become.

Once the boy stood in front of him, he points at his cousin.

“This is Sally Joplin; everyone calls her Black Sally. She is my younger cousin, and seeing as you have … been living here and turned into my assistant, address her with some respect.”

“Call me aunt Sally,” his cousin cuts in, destroying any established hierarchy he had created. “You’re going to be my nephew after all.”

All Piero did was gape at her.

Of course, Sally had been his confidant in many things. She was ruthless and didn’t care much for the normal common sense of the general public. He had always shared his odd ideas with her and she would tell him what is more beneficial to them or himself. He shared many other things as well, his dreams, nightmares, what his days had been like.

So, he trusted her with showing the back of the boy’s palm. The pitch-black tattoo, oddly silent for once.

“A witch?”

“I think he is simply marked,” he said solemnly.

There was nothing simple in that statement.

He then covered the boy’s hands with the gloves once more, letting go of him. The child didn’t seem perturbed at all as he left the adults to their discussions. Sally had eyed the rat on his head as it scuttles between his hair, squeaking, and making the child giggle.

She sighs.

“Well, nobody likes the overseers anyways, and they never liked us back. Making them our enemies wouldn’t change much.”

“No! Sally, think about this. If _anyone_ found out- I am afraid of what would happen. He has abilities, but he hasn’t shown any to me, and I do not want him to practice somewhere away from my own eyes, I- I-”

“Then, we’ll find another witch to teach him.”

“ _Another witch?!_ How many witches do you know of?”

Sally rolled her eyes.

“It’s not me who knows, it’s one of these unlucky bastards down there,” she points at the windows towards the Dunwall’s skyline.

Piero stared ahead, feeling dread pool down in his stomach.

** 0o0o0 **

True to his worries, the Black Sally gang had gone into a campaign of sorts, if one can call threats of the demise for the unlucky viewer as a campaign.

She had promptly threatened to shank a tailor in Drapers' ward who’s been known to steal whalebones and carve mysterious little charms and runes for the ones who needed shrines. They had kidnapped an overseer, and forced seawater upon his face as he was tied down onto a board and screamed profanities at them. They had wheedled some information from the baker that she really liked, an old lady that knew all sorts of people all around the city.

Ultimately, it had been only Slackjaw who had the most helpful information, if they can even call it that.

“Them whalers, the assassins, Slackjaw almost got sliced in the throat while shaving at the barbers by them. The bitch appeared out of thin air with black splotches behind her. Been using that as an excuse not to sell any of your elixirs to them, they seemed mighty interested.”

“But the _whalers,_ ” Piero wailed.

“What’s so bad about it, you’re not afraid of them, are you? Scared of a bunch of cutthroats?”

“I am _not_ going to a bunch of- of- cult of murderers. I am surprised that no one had sent them to kill me already.”

“What could _you_ have done for someone to pay them off and kill you?” Sally asked, looking very intrigued along with Slackjaw.

Piero gulped.

Maybe it was Trimble, who last he heard of him had been serving the Dead Eels somewhere in Drapers'. Maybe it was one of his old colleagues that hailed from aristocracy, and he had simply shown him up in his intelligence despite his poor background and age. Maybe it had been one of the researchers, who noted his tendencies of surviving the River Krusts, leaving everyone else to die in their wake despite not meaning to. Maybe it was Anton Sokolov himself, whom he rowed with at the last day before his expulsion, angry that the man had expected him to hold any sort of knowledge regarding-

“The people who didn’t believe in the plague at first,” he answered.

Sally snorts.

“No more of those sorts, can’t ignore how half the city is dead now.”

“Yes … they cannot …”

Simply put, Piero is not desperate enough to go to assassins to learn about magic.

He was a man of Natural Philosophy, he can use the scientific method in order to discover what the child can do, there was no need for magical assassins to teach them.

Going back into their humble apartment, and sitting on his desk as he works on a rewiring tool one of the barristers wanted down in the legal district, he let his hand play along the machinery, even as sleep slowly took its hold on him.

** 0o0o0 **

It was upon an empty shore that they had decided to test out the child’s powers.

The rats that appeared were not something he anticipated, nor was it welcomed. He had picked up the boy and ran to the waters, leaving behind his notebook and their food for the day inside his bag. He simply stood as far away as he could within the beach, watching as the rats tried to swim towards them and slowly drowned.

“We will never use that power _ever_ again. The only rat allowed is the one in your hair,” he admonished.

“Winston,” the boy mumbled.

Piero blinked.

“His name … is … Winston?” The boy sounded very carefully, as if only having learned how to speak. Piero had an odd realization that he might have learned it from Piero himself.

This had been the first time he had heard the boy talk.

“And … what of your own name?”

The boy looks at him with a sulk, shrugging.

“I didn’t pick.”

“Oh … alright. When you do, please tell me.”

And that was that.

The next thing they had learned of the boy’s power had been his ability to jump high, very high, higher than any jump Piero had ever witnessed. The child grinned atop the rocks at him, and he thought that this might have been the key to the child’s survival up until now.

There wasn’t much else to learn of, the child did not show any other inhuman aptitudes, unless one considers a high speed of learning as one.

But Piero had been the youngest person to pass into the academy, merely at fourteen years of age. High and speedy learning capabilities were not foreign concepts to him, and he was a bit delighted to see it in someone else who was mildly interested in his crafts.

Once back in their apartment in waterfront, and after they had both taken a bath – he had to stop the child from finishing the whole vial of soap – he had remembered the shrine once his eyes fell on it.

The child can speak to the outsider as well, he has to remember noting that down.

The next morning, and after spending an hour after waking in bed watching the waves from his window in a delirious fever, he forced himself out of the bed. He realized that the child hadn’t woken either, and the apartment was silent for once. No odd tinkering sounds that involved the boy’s rising collection of odd junk, and now whistling coming from the kettle in the kitchen.

He had gone to check on him and noticed how tired the boy looked.

He sighs, then went to make breakfast.

After working for some time, he noted how the boy was _still_ sleeping.

“Did the venture yesterday tire him?” He wondered, out loud, and anxiously checked on him once more.

He had decided to bring the tea and soup into the room and tried to feed the boy after waking him. The child had been half asleep.

It wasn’t until he forced the spiritual remedy – a must staple of one’s daily diet nowadays – that the boy was suddenly sprung up back to life.

He had drunk the remedy as if it were water, and Piero frowns at that reaction.

His vial aids the ill of mind, mayhaps his powers are connected to his mind?

“It seems … that we truly do need some help when it comes to your abilities. I apologize, I could not do much else.”

They had worked on a pistol together later on, after the boy had been fed and the life settled back into his being. Piero had been showing him what _not_ to do in the presence of such a weapon. The boy had been interested in the thing but slightly scared of it, probably a remnant of watching its use on the streets.

“It’s alright,” the boy pipes before handing him a flat-headed screwdriver. “At least you tried for me.”

He seemed so content, that Piero couldn’t help but smile at him.

Oh, to be easily satisfied. How he envied it, yet felt a sort of odd pried to see it in this child.

“Father, can we go see aunt Sally?”

“Yes, of course, but whatever for-”

That’s when the words caught up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exasperated man adopts a little witch by accident, or through scheming of crime lord, who knows by this point.  
> \--
> 
>   1. I really wanted to visualize what Black Sally was like, tried to follow her description from the books you can find in game.
>   2. The good old scientific method, remember taking it in seventh grade. Weird how ingrained those steps are in basically everyone’s heads.
>   3. The story about Slackjaw almost getting killed by a whaler is true. You can hear it when you use the heart on Billie in Dishonored 2.
>   4. Instead of giving the kid double jump, I just gave him a high jump.
> 



	5. Chapter 5

Father.

_Father._

It was an alien concept.

He had a _grandfather._

He had an uncle.

He did not have a father.

Piero Joplin had been born to a Morleyan immigrant woman and a Serkonan pirate of a father.

The only thing he had inherited from his absent father was his long face and bad eyesight. Mother had told him how his eyes reflected his own. All Piero saw was the loss of color, and how he sometimes didn’t see blue or grey or whatever color someone made up when they tried to describe them, Piero only saw the bloody vein in them, magnified by his spectacles.

Allegedly, his father’s ship had been struck down by a sea monster, a leviathan.

In reality, they all knew that the man had simply ran away. There was no love lost, he thought idly. Why would he care for a man who took his mother for granted? Left her to rot in Gristol, especially after the insurrection?

No. His father was simply a useless bastard to him.

Because of this, he never actually learned how a father should act.

He had been rather … protective of the child after that evening. The boy would smile at him, tooth gaped, and he’d think of the best way to bring him up in the world.

He had intended for him to be an assistant. He did not intend to raise him, not in the ways that mattered.

He cursed his cousin, it was her fault that the concept of family had now become ingrained in this young child’s supple mind.

He couldn’t quite stop the little slow smile stretching on his lips whenever the boy did call him father, however.

Piero decided to go down the slums once more, to help aid some of the plague victims and study the sickness up close. Some of the people recognize him, the healthier of the bunch at the least. They had told him that they been taking his elixir. The child had accompanied him once again, trailing behind him without much sound.

He kept watching him as he checked on their temperature and other vital health signs, grimacing whenever one of them had a heavier cough than what is considered healthy, even among the victims.

After a while, they decided to walk away.

He didn’t dare to hold his hands, in fear that the sickness had lingered on him still, and that despite their daily doses, the boy would still catch it.

It had been rather too late by the time he left his thoughts to notice anything around him.

The moment he regained awareness of the world, he heard the moaning sounds of a weeper coming close.

** 0o0o0 **

The pistol was effective, he learns that day.

He also learned how inefficient he was in holding them, how he trembled harshly, just as bad as when his fevers held him.

They had also discovered that the boy can control blood. The desperate way he looked as the weeper lunged at Piero, the scream that tore out of his mouth, the way his mark glowed in his desperation.

The weeper’s eyes bled even more, and it moved grotesquely in a way that made Piero’s stomach sick. He had seen up close how the liquid had solidified before it stabbed the sickly man back in the eyes, the way the weeper had screeched in agony.

The boy was drained now, his head slung over his shoulder as his arm held tightly onto him. He looked to the world as the most innocent boy to exist, not the murderous witch that the abbey would describe him as.

Piero decided that maybe he shouldn’t just learn how to make and improve weapons, maybe he should learn how to use them as well. After all, what was the point of owning a set if he couldn’t use it to protect himself or the people who needed it?

It was time … it was time to leave behind the mentality of the academy.

Natural Philosophers shouldn’t deign themselves into using weapons against ruffians, they always said. Piero scoffed at the thought. Those stuffy old men did not live on the streets, and he had clung uselessly onto those words, depending on others to protect him.

He now has a child, a boy, who depended on him.

Piero looks down on Sokolov’s design and scowled.

He would make something even better than those accursed tallboys dangling upon the sky, raining down fires at them.

For now, he has someone to calm down.

** 0o0o0 **

Days later, he had managed to devise a stupor formula, able to force a person into unconsciousness.

He had given it to one of Sally’s men, who was tasked with watching them for the day, and simply pointed at one of the guards still idiotic enough to walk into their territory. The man simply grinned, already understanding the purpose.

The first batch had been a failure, well, a failure for its original intentions.

It had made the guard scream about how his blood boiled, about the hallucinations he had witnessed as he ran. The gangster had howled in laughter as they watched the officer run down the streets, sounding striking mad.

Piero had watched objectively, but inside his head, he stashed away the reaction as a simple bullet point under the failed formula. It can be used later, but for what?

“It would make perfect sense,” a voice whispered to him that night. “To make the bullets silent when you want the target to sleep, is it not?”

“You are right, what had I been thinking.”

“You haven’t, which lead to other such interesting inventions,” the voice smiled at him. Piero hummed, ignoring the hum of whales in the skies as it floats upside down, ignoring the hum of millions and millions of stars despite their distances, leaking in light instead of sound.

He looks at the fireflies, so rare had they became during the years. Nary a butterfly could be seen, it had been said with a morose tone spilling from his mother’s mouth as she had said those words.

If he could see them flutter together in the air as someone walks by them, surprising them in their elegance-

Piero wakes up the next day, an idea of a spring coiled device was formed in his mind. Shrapnel of all sorts precociously stuck in, only to release its sharp contents upon its victims if someone were to walk close by it, dislodging the mechanism holding it tightly. The contents would fly like how fireflies would run away.

He will call it the spring razor.

** 0o0o0 **

By the second month of the year, he has come to learn much of the boy’s mannerism.

He still couldn’t quite understand one of them. The way he would stare at the world. It had … bothered him, somewhat. Sally had scoffed at him, saying that it was his fault. It seemed that the boy had been staring at things the way Piero stared as he studied something.

Clinically, with an air of calloused indifference.

But the boy didn’t stare uselessly, he noted how he saw people, how he saw certain objects, how he pointed out the important parts of some machinery and concluded that there was something more to it.

He does not think more about it.

One day, the boy comes back to their home and offers him a bonecharm.

Piero silently accepts it and hid it away in his inner pockets.

“Where did you find this?” He asked.

“There was a witch on the rooftop,” the boy paused, sticking out his tongue in thought as he looks away. “It … dropped?” He guessed.

“Fell.”

“It fell from her pockets!”

After mulling it over for a few days, he realized that this could help them with their dilemma.

“Show me the way she took.”

It had taken a while, following a trail that was days old. Piero was all too glad that they were used to hunger, that one meal a day was enough to have them moving. To his surprise, the boy simply continues to point, as if seeing the way clearly, like an invisible trace is guiding him. His gaze does not rest, it keeps clinging onto the clinical way he studies their world.

They come upon a manor, right outside of Dunwall. They had to pay off a ferryman, a very old man that seemed sprier than Piero, to reach the area.

The fauna was marvelous, if Piero had to say anything. Far more diverse than he had ever seen anywhere, and he had been in the academy and walked through the mercantile district’s boast-worthy graveyard park.

Piero looks at the garden and noted how the child was interested in the glowing blue flowers, trying to pick it.

“Aunt Sally?” He asked him, showing him his loot. Piero couldn’t help but smile and idly ruffling his hair.

“Aunt Sally prefers jewelry over flowers.”

“Oh …” he looked disappointed but held onto the flower, nonetheless.

As they walked deeper into the garden, the boy snaked his hand in between his, his eyes flying from one spot into another, seeing things that Piero couldn’t, or simply wouldn’t.

He can already feel the air, settling heavily on his chest.

“That statue is very strange."

“Strange how?” He asked, kneeling down next to the boy in concern.

“It’s … alive? But not. I feel watched.”

Piero’s eyes moved up to the statue that the child kept staring at, it depicted a gorgeous lady, adorning herself in flowers. Though the style may be archaic and wouldn’t bring much favor in front of a court, no one would be able to deny the beauty as the wreath of bushes and roses surrounds her neckline like ornaments.

And like the boy, he also felt watched, though unlike the darkened eyes that visit him in his dreams. No amused whispers lilting in satisfaction inside his ears. The dark tendrils of the void, however, was ever-present and ever dreadful, casting a shiver down his spine and a cold tingling through his chest.

He wraps an arm over the boy and pulled him closer.

He marches on.

This is for his son.

Witches know magic, and they are most definitely _not_ assassins.

He hoped.

At the front of the manor, he knocks.

** 0o0o0 **

As witches go, they weren’t as bad as he originally thought. Their tea was splendid, the aroma coming from it was pleasant. The conversations, however, were dreadful if it were to be conducted in the presence of others.

Not to Piero.

It seems that his alchemical and chemical knowledge seemed to impress his audience for once.

“And cardamom?”

“It is efficient during storage to stop many of the fungus growth, especially the saprotrophic and pathogenic types- _Do not,_ ” The boy had been close to touching one of the plants. Surprisingly, it hadn’t attacked yet, that fact had fascinated the girls all the more with the both of them.

It wasn’t as easy as it is now.

Hours ago, they had been attacked, almost stabbed by plants that curiously have their own sentience, and had been held down in a prison of sorts filled with murky waters despite the high altitude. Piero had been itching to study the geology of the place to find any hidden wells underneath the structure.

Naturally accruing underwater springs were such a rarity, usually associated with purity because of their disconnection with the rivers and seas of the world. Any springs or lakes would be seized by the abbey, denying any person from studying it.

White cliff was an infamous example of it.

“Why are they left alive?” A new voice joins in, making him flinch and the boy snaps back to attention, running back to him and wrapping his arms in his midsection. Piero instinctively grabbed onto tiny shoulders and pulled them closer to hide the boy away under his jacket.

“He has knowledge,” one of the witches said to who he concludes must be the owner of the coven. She had an intimidating look to her. The clothes were obscene in a way, not covering most of her skin, like many of the other witches. They were simply vests or jackets cut out of their sleeves and trousers that showed her ankles. Her skin had splotches of black and red marks that glowed crimson. Her makeup was dark, and he would guess that she did not cover her face at all with the white paste, that it most certainly _is_ her skin color to be so pallid and close to grey.

“Knowledge of our coven’s place," she reminds them, sounding none too pleased. "They must be killed.”

“P-Please, hear me out first,” he said, catching their attention. “I have come with urgency on my part and have not thought thoroughly of our actions. However, it is not with ill intentions. We came here because we are both desperate.”

“We do not sell charms or potions,” the leader says sharply.

“Mistress, what of hexes?” One of the ladies asked.

“We do not offer our service to people who simply demand it because they can.”

“I-I- can provide you with elixirs! The- The blue …”

“Piero’s spiritual remedy?” A manic sort of interest had engulfed the room, and Piero gulped before nodding.

He now has a sudden urge to _not_ reveal his name.

“And how do you have any access to them?”

“I- I- w-work with the distillery. The batches, I can calculate how much you need-”

“We want extra.”

“ _Extra?_ ” He said, feeling somewhat annoyed. The sharp look the woman sent him stopped him from expressing any more. He sighs deeply before nodding. “Extra batches, along with the mandatory daily ones. I can draft a contract and their details with you then go back to the distillery to have it signed.”

“And what would you want from us for such a generous reward?” The woman questioned, voice sardonic and eyes untrusting.

Piero gulped.

This is the moment of truth.

“Teach us magic.”

The room had fallen silent, and after the quiet moment passed, one of the witches cracked into sniggers. Another had joined, chuckling, and it slowly divulging into mocking laughter.

Even the leader had a smirk on her face.

He could not help but tighten his hold on the child. Said child simply burrowed his face into his chest.

“Even if you learn, you will not be able to wield,” the leader said, swishing one strand of hair away from her face looking too bored despite her initial reaction. Piero felt his face heat up, whether if it was from embarrassment or rage, he did not know.

“I know I will not be able to do so, but this is not for me. This- This is for my son, my s-son has- he has-”

He just called the boy his son.

“He- He needs to protect himself,” he gave up on saying his words, then slowly coaxed the boy onto letting go of him, to pull out the gloves.

The gasps that followed as the mark illuminated the roof with its glow made him feel nauseous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. I made it so Piero has ocular albinism. No pigments in eyes, making it look blue/grey (which is the color I’m going with because I have no idea what eye color he actually has) or sometimes red. Sensitivity to light. Depth perception affected making him a bit clumsy. Ocular albinism can also cause really bad eyesight, so much so that they would need to make specific types of glasses. This would explain how he knew how to make those specs for Corvo.
>   2. The first weapon Piero made was a stinging bolt, which only shows up in Dishonored 2. His own version though, not the same one in the second game. I just thought it was that when he made the sleeping dart at first, he failed and made stinging darts.
>   3. Butterflies decreased in sightings throughout the years (I don’t know about 2020 though, quarantine could have affected it). Made it so Piero dreaming about Butterflies and fireflies inspired the Spring Razor. Just imagine when those bugs just suddenly start flying upwards in a group.
>   4. Lonely Rat Boy so far has High Jump, Rat summoning, Blood Manipulation, Dark vision (whatever his version would be called), and Clairvoyance from Skyrim.
>   5. There’s a town called mercantile district where there’s a garden cemetery, mentioned in the books, by this point the place is abandoned because of the rat plague.
> 

> 
> Finally, an explanation for some of the character tags.


	6. Chapter 6

Breana Ashworth was the co-leader, the lieutenant.

The original leader and owner of the coven had been someone much more frightening and terrifying.

She was the statue that they had seen outside the manor.

The way she had glided into the room, too smooth to be natural and too perfect to be called out for it, had made him even more paranoid about the situation. She had simply taken the boy’s hand to examine it, before showing off her hand without shame or fear.

Piero stared as the woman compared the marks on both their hands.

“Your son is much like me,” she starts, her eyes slowly drift towards his, and Piero felt a twinge of pain before nodding.

“We have- we have tried learning what he could do. One of the m-men told me to go to the whalers, but- but-”

“Assassins,” she simply answered, giving him a frankly intimidating smirk. He nods frantically. “Do you have many enemies to fear them?”

“N-No? I do not think so, although, I did- I did cause a lot of problems.”

They had fallen silent, the child still wouldn’t leave his side, and once the woman had let go of his hand he had simply attached himself to him once more, watching the woman warily. Piero found himself unconsciously wrapping his arms around him.

“What can he do? As far as you can tell.”

“He- He- He can summon rats, vicious things. We almost died from one of his swarms, and he could not control them. We had to wait for an officer to stumble onto us and for the rats to decide that he was a better meal than us.”

She hummed in interest.

“Do the rats carry the sickness?”

“Yes,” he answered with absolute certainty. He doesn’t know why, does not know how he came with this knowledge, but he remembered wasting away for a few years, watching the child in his hand die weeping from his eyes. It had haunted him, and the only conclusion he could come up with was the rats infecting him.

“Anything else?”

“He jumps much higher than anyone I have seen, and he- he- he has the ability to manipulate blood.”

That seemed to gain her interest.

“Oh?”

“A weeper almost killed me, and the blood under his eyes solidified into a- a dagger of sorts. We have not tested that ability yet, and I do not wish to do so, not- not if it will cause him distress.”

She watched them silently, then ordered for one of the women to come.

“Cut your palm,” she ordered, making them both jump and feel a sudden urgency. The witch did not hesitate, she pulled out her blade and sliced her hands, letting the blood drip down on the floor. The leader looks back to the boy. “Control it.”

After a tense silence, the child outstretched his marked hand, and the tattoo glowed as the droplets of blood stilled in the air, slowly rising, and shifting in a grotesque manner to resemble a-

A rose.

Once done, the flower drops down on the ground, now crystallized as stone.

The witch bends down, looking at the rose with fascination before offering it to her leader. The woman accepted it and eyed the thing with scrutinizing intensity, sharp and precise, looking for an error in the details.

Much like Anton Sokolov, he felt himself slightly frown at the thought.

“You have a lovely gift, it is as if I’m holding a marble stone stained in red,” she said before putting the rose on one of the overgrown branches on her dark suit.

It looked fitting.

“My name is Delilah.”

“I’m P-Piero Joplin, the boy doesn’t- he doesn’t have a name.”

Delilah raised a brow.

“Intriguing, giving him a choice for his own name.”

“He isn’t originally mine, I found him, and well … I asked for his name and he didn’t give it to me, so I am simply waiting.”

“Natural Philosophers had always been somewhat eccentric, what am I to say.” She sounded exasperated, and Piero winced at the fact that he was already found out. “We have something in common, you and I.”

“We do?”

“Do I need to explain our mutual hatred for Anton Sokolov?” Piero grimaced immediately, making Delilah smirk. “He demands more of us than what we could give. I remember the days after your expulsion, and how much he fumed. Claiming that you were obstructing the ways of Natural Philosophy.”

“What he demanded has nothing to do with Natural Philosophy!” Piero snapped, and then suddenly realized what he did before meekly falling silent, looking down on the floor.

“No, of course not, but who would go against Sokolov?”

“I have,” he coughs, clearing his throat. “I have never seen you at the academy.”

“Oh, no, I was his apprentice painter. It is why I appreciate the fine arts,” she gestured at the rose on her outfit.

The boy chuckles.

She gave him a smile that Piero couldn’t quite place.

“In exchange for those tonics, I take your boy as an apprentice. You will not interfere with what I teach him, and it is _his_ choice what he does with them. The outsider does not mark people without reason, after all."

Somehow, Piero felt as if she wanted to know the reason herself. She would take this opportunity to find out.

“It is ironic," he comments. "How we are both involved in the occult now that we are away from him. Both cast away from society yet he who had been practicing against the abbey held an esteemed position despite his hypocrisy.”

“Yes, how very ironic. But revenge will come in due time, for now, we have a little witch boy to train.”

The smile still did not assure him.

** 0o0o0 **

The boy had become more … subdued.

Piero looked at him with concern. He had been an excitable child, despite all of his fears and cautiousness when he first started living with him.

It seemed that his skills were growing, however. He would hire the old ferryman by the docks to go back and visit the coven every week or so. He’d bring the elixirs along with him as well, and it barely fit the boat. Once there, he’d descend to the room that he knew was given to the child, and sit next to him until he woke.

The boy wasn’t talkative to begin with, now he seemed to be as quiet as a mouse. He’d hug him tightly in every visit and silently sit next to him, even as Piero tried to start a conversation.

“He is focusing on his connection to the void,” Delilah simply stated when he asked. She had been painting a portrait, unlike the ones he had seen from Sokolov’s studio/office.

Where Sokolov’s lines were defined, well and harshly lit against the dark backdrop, realistic and resembling the subject, capturing whatever first impression he had gleaned of them the first time he met them, Delilah’s paintings were colorful and whimsical in a way. It was filled with paints, made from all sorts of plants and animal remains they might have scrounged, capturing whatever Delilah herself saw in the subject and their spirit.

He had seen the portrait she had done of Breanna Ashworth, and it truly did capture her inner fire

“Take it as a self-inflicting journey. He needs to understand his own connections since we both have different ones. I have been comparing our abilities, and so far, the only thing we share is the ability to blink into different areas.”

“Blink?”

“Appearing and reappearing in different places,” she said as she rolled her eyes.

Piero blinked in confusion.

“Displacement of the physical body. To transverse the world from one coordinate to another without so much of a step. I have been meaning to create a device that could do much the same … but to find out that he can do so … Could it be the source of energy that allows such an action? Whale oil should suffice- But we transform whale oil into electricity ...” He starts to mumble.

Piero felt the need to watch them practice, to study the moments as he disappeared, only to walk in another spot entirely. So much data that could be found in such simple steps. He can finally figure out the frequency problem-

His son is a witch.

“Is there- is there anything I can do?”

“What else to do but to encourage your son and not to cast him away?” The woman said blandly, a scathing tone hidden underneath her smooth expression.

“I do … I … want what is best for him.”

“Oh?”

“I … he is too young to be burdened with such powers. He had lost control of it many times, and I fear the day that it would turn against him.”

The dreams still haunt him, of a mice breaking out of a swarm, biting his son's hand. The boy, crying tears of blood as he is stuffed inside linen. Death, hovering above them all-

“Why do you care much? He is not your real son,” She questioned, pausing in her painting as she gives him a stare. Piero frowned, before slowly looking away.

He noticed how … obliquely silent this part of the manor is.

He took a step away from her, watched the dark and blue streaks of the sky painted together over the edge of the ground.

What answers can a Natural Philosopher give a witch and satisfy her?

“He may not be of my flesh and blood, but I have … become fond of him. I have never planned to have a child, not with my affliction. It is a cruel fate to bestow onto someone newly born into the world. Waking every morning with a fever that boils your mind, with confusing hours trying to understand if you were in your home or somewhere else entirely. That is not a life to live. But … he came to me, in my dreams, and he gave my son to me.”

“Who did?”

“Who else?”

Piero had woken up the next morning, feeling breathless, his throat constricted, and his clouded vision continues to stay blurry even after wearing his spectacles.

Half of his brain was aching, pounding incessantly, after every heartbeat. Sometimes, the fevers weren’t present, but this version of pain was just as daunting and torturous. At least, he wasn’t conscious of the world when his mind boiled over. He was now hyperaware of everything and noticed how empty his apartment has become.

** 0o0o0 **

The pain goes just as fast as it came, and he continues to suffer as he moves between the bar and the apartment, working tirelessly.

The newsboy had yelled that the plague has now affected many other districts, and he scoffed as he walks away. It was entirely their fault for not heeding his words early on, but what is he to do now? It is too late. He might not have been the only vocal voice, he might not have been the first one either, and that the ones before him could have been silenced, but he still lived on, finding a preventative and now looking for a complete cure.

The dreams were increasing. His tonic was slowly losing its effect on him, and he could see glimpses of a dark amused smile with pitying and intrigued eyes. He sees the bodies littered on the ground.

There weren’t enough graveyards to hide the corpses away, not enough cloth to cover their faces anymore.

Finally, he had gone to sleep and dreamed of the face he had feared dreaming long ago.

It was the boy, and he had looked at him with excitement.

Piero peered down at him with bewilderment, before dropping onto his knees, touching his face to check if he truly is his son.

“Papa?”

“Papa?” Piero frowned, looking at his reflection on the upstream beside them. “Me?”

“Yes! Look at what I can do!” The child then put his hand on the floor and did a handstand, he giggled, walking without any obstruction. “Olivia showed me this, are you proud?”

“Anything you can do will always make me proud, do you not know?”

The boy stands on his leg once more and tilts his head at him with confusion.

“But you haven’t been visiting, mum said that you were busy, and I-”

“Mum?”

What is happening here?

“M-Mum- M- Ms. Delilah,” the child retracted, now looking down in embarrassment.

“Does she know that you think of her this way?” he asked warily, this boy gets attached far too fast. Given, he _had_ spent months in their company.

The boy doesn’t say much else, and the world fades away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. If you haven’t realized by now, they’re at Brigmore manor.
>   2. Tales from Dunwall happened before the Dishonored game, as far as I can tell. On the third part, they mentioned Jessamine’s death. So, I’m taking liberties on the idea that the dreams haunted Piero for a good few months, or maybe a year.
>   3. Originally, the relationship tag was “Too complex to tag” and you’ll see it soon. I’m still thinking of tagging that. 
> 

> 
> Did I capture the quarantine mood yet? No?


	7. Chapter 7

The winters in Dunwall had been cold, extremely cold. The only thing keeping him warm nowadays was the bonecharm, still hidden away in his pocket.

He’d feel himself tense whenever he passed an Overseer, knowing that if they ever heard the hums of whale songs, they’d knock him down and lock him in the deepest pits of the abbey for their hounds to feast on.

As days went by, he would clutch the bonecharm and feel a faint need to go back to the witches.

Sally’s gang had been confused by his disappearance, and only their leader knew where he had been. Slackjaw had been concerned, but unwilling to voice it out.

Piero?

Piero had seen better days.

So, with great anticipation, he picks up the new shipment and goes to the old ferryman who had been taking him across the river, only to receive disappointing news.

“I can’t anymore. There’s a blockade, and the men well spot us if they heard the engine roaring,” the man said, pulling a cigarette. Piero felt his whole life slowly spiral.

“I- I- need to deliver this- these-” He stops, unable to continue.

“If you need a smuggler, I know a lass. Lizzy Stride, owns a ship and runs blockades all the time.”

“This needs to be discreet. You are the best ferryman I have ventured with. If I- if I made your engine run more silently, would you be able to take me there?”

“Old Amaranth had been running for too long for that to happen, and I’m mighty attached to her for anyone to mess up with her engines.”

“I won’t, do not worry. I have worked with machinery before, in factories,” he suddenly felt subdued. When was the last time he had told someone that he was a Natural Philosopher, and they would suddenly accept any proposals he gave away?

Excuse and excuses and _excuses-_

“You’re buying a new engine if something happened to her,” the man warns.

Piero nods, and lifts his sleeves before pulling out his working kit from his inner pockets, always attached to him in case he needed it for emergencies such as this. The man doesn’t say anything when he did pull out a wrench from his pocket, he only continued to watch him with keen grey and sharp eyes.

A slight spark of concern flickered in his mind when the boat tilts. He ignores it, he might have never been at the front of a skiff before, but fundamentals of the natural physical laws wouldn't suddenly fail him as he drops his knees on the welcome mat.

Hours later, and three cigarettes lit during that time, Piero swipes the sweat off his brow, ignoring the grease, before grinning at the man.

“What do you think, Mr. Beechworth?”

He gave him a smug smile when the man’s eyes slightly popped as he moved the steering handle, probably looking for a sound he had gotten used to from years of sailing.

“Well, I’d be, how in the void did you manage that?”

“I am good with my craft,” he answers mysteriously before gesturing to his crate. “So, is it possible?”

“Of course, of course, we have to test Amaranth after all.”

The ride had been silent partially because of his maintenance, and partially because neither of them spoke. Piero eyes the blockade as they passed it, frowning at the number of ships now situated on the river. He ran a hand on the back of his neck, now feeling concerned.

“Folks had been desperate; I’ve already seen them stop a merchant ship that tried to pass.

“They will not be able to spread the plague now,” he concludes, but at what cost? Piero thought worriedly. Many have already fled. He can understand the crown's decision to confine everyone inside of Dunwall, to protect those out and keep the city functioning inside. It would be pointless, however, if the plague spreads to every citizen.

“At least you managed to find a place for your boy, even if it isn’t that far away from the city.”

“It had only been temporary, it was intended until … until he gets better, I suppose.” Now, the city had decided to block itself into quarantine. He wouldn’t be able to easily sneak around back and forth to his child anymore.

“I’ll be waiting here, as usual," Beechworth said as gets off of the skiff, eying a particular rock that he usually leans on as he waits for him for hours on end.

“Thank you, Mr. Beechworth,” Piero said in gratitude before starting his trek.

The moment he reached the manor, he felt relief sweep over him as he found the boy – now wearing an overall that the girls must have scavenged – jumping from the roof-

Piero screamed as he ran to the front as fast as he could, the boy’s face had been filled with excitement, and a second before he was halfway to become splatter on the ground, he disappeared.

Piero stopped, looking frantically around for him, and found that the child was now standing next to him.

“Papa! Did you see that! I can blink anywhere now,” he said excitedly as he wrapped his arms around him. Piero noted numbly that the child has grown taller, never mind that he hadn’t grown by much. He was, as far as Piero can tell, eight years of age, and though he might have been smaller than others, it wasn’t as alarming.

All these thoughts passed his mind as he pats the child’s head.

“You passed worlds,” Piero simply stated.

How else would he have done this?

** 0o0o0 **

“Because of this blockade, there might be some difficulty with transport. The person I use to move around is old, so he wouldn’t be able to keep this up any further, and I fear that there would be more blockades to clear the other gaps soon.”

He couldn’t say much else as the boy ran in, there was a streak of glowing blue on his forehead. He giggled as he stood next to him, pointing a luminescent finger at his head before pointing at him. Delilah and Breana did their best, but ultimately, their grins were turned to smirks.

The child ran out once more.

Piero couldn’t help but frown at that attitude.

He has become far more free-spirited than the first days he spent here, and it seems that he picked up the behavior of most of the witches around him. He just hopes that he doesn’t end up lazing in random altitudes, his heart would not be able to take it anymore.

“As I was saying,” he decides to continue. “We may need to find an alternate route for you to receive that tonics.”

“You are thinking with a narrowed mind,” Delilah started, and Piero quirked a brow at her.

Him? A narrowed mind?

Preposterous.

Then he thought it over, taking a seat that had been in front of the women, letting a hand run through his face.

“Kaldwin Bridge?” He could feel himself grimace the same time Delilah did. He shook his head, discarding his idea completely. He looks away, at some torn off part of the manor, looking below at the waters-

And an idea struck him.

“How big can your sentient plants grow?”

“Black Briars,” Breana snapped at him, and Piero did a ‘so so’ gesture. “If we are pressed, it can be as large as this room.”

“Does the structure stay after it dies?”

“No.”

“Oh … is there a way to keep its corpse after it dies? Maybe I can make a chemical solution if-”

“I think,” Delilah cuts him off. “We can concoct a potion ourselves. What is your idea?”

“We create a tunnel.” It was a mad idea, but Piero wasn’t Piero if his ideas did not yield results, and the two witches seemed to be interested in this. “Grow your … uh …”

“Black Briars,” Breana sounds close to losing her patience now.

“Y-Yes, that! Underground. Then we’ll hollow it. We won’t need to cross Wrenhaven by boat anymore, and it’ll be easy enough to steal a cart …” So, maybe he’d have a bunch of Sally’s men steal that one. “Create a railway system. It might take some time, more than a year even, but we can-”

“Piero, you do still think with a narrow mind,” Delilah reminds him before pushing herself off her own chair. “With your Natural Philosophy, it _would_ take more than a year, but we have magic.”

She had said the last part as she raised her arms, gesturing all around her.

Piero’s mind blanks, and he coughs in embarrassment, reminding himself that yes, he _is_ speaking to witches.

“How is- How is the boy’s training going?”

A smile stretched over her face, and Piero relaxed slightly. It wasn’t a malicious one, although he still felt weary.

“He is _delightful._ Taken to magic like a fish to water, although much of his abilities do not match ours, he still flourished.”

“He has steadier hands than the rest of the girls, so he could write the runes with ease, I presume that is your fault?” Breana added begrudgingly. She still seemed untrusting of him.

“I- I have been teaching him to read and write, yes. Wait- what runes?”

“The glowing runes all over the shafts and walls on the ground floor,” Breanna raised a brow at him, and Piero all but frowned.

“You must be bad at rune writing if it looked like a bad rendition of Gristolish lettering.” That had brought them to a stop, and the two witches eyed him as if he were one of the specimens in the academy ready to be cut up by fresh-faced students. “… It isn’t?”

** 0o0o0 **

To the confusion of many, himself included, he can simply read runes.

He didn’t have a lick of magic in him, but Piero knew well enough that he was _touched_ per se. It wasn’t much of a surprise, he _had_ exhibited some supernatural traits, even throughout his childhood. River Krusts ignored him, and most of the plants and predatory fishes in the rivers liked him well enough that they crooned at his touch.

He knew, deep down inside, that he dreamed of a world that wasn’t, and of a time that was, is, and never will be.

Reading runes with the ease of drinking water seemed to be low on the oddities that he had accumulated during his childhood.

_“He’s from the rows-”_

_“All they do is listen to whalebone songs that they’ve carved-”_

He rubbed his forehead as he was giving some florescent ink, made out of the flowers that grew outside the manor, the same one that the child had picked the first time they had arrived here. He was asked to write.

They had been dissatisfied when he had written in Gristolish.

“Focus,” Breanna starts. “What do you feel when you read the runes? Focus on that feeling.”

“ _Excuse me_ , I felt nothing! I thought they were Gristolish!”

After much arguing, and much staring on Piero’s part, something had finally clicked in his mind.

“Can I have a whalebone?”

“A whalebone?”

“ _Any bone_ , but it will be more effective with a whalebone.”

Much to his dismay, Piero discovered that his theory was correct and that whatever he wrote on a bone simply turned out to be in runes instead.

“Are you, perhaps, related to a witch yourself, Master Piero?” Delilah asked, but Piero shook his head in frustration.

“I am a man of Natural Philosophy.”

“And does Natural Philosophy not believe in magic and the void?”

“Oh, no, Natural Philosophy most _definitely_ believes in them, too much evidence floating around. If only the Overseers aren’t so tightlipped and gripped over the heretical artifacts for us to test and confirm our hypothesis with.”

“Then what are we to think, Master Piero? That you never learned of your talents? Never touched whalebone before?”

“Everyone in the rows knows full well _not_ to touch a whalebone, especially a freshly carved one. It’s enough that we can hear their lullabies at all hours of the day.”

A little voice pipes in, cutting off what might have turned into a full-blown argument.

“Papa’s like us,” the child said, appearing without anyone’s notice once more. The girls had sent each other looks, as Delilah stared at him with some interest. “Like me and Ms. Delilah,” the child clarified.

“I do not see a mark on him, little mouse.”

“Oh … umm … he’s more …” the boy then waves his hands around his head. “Concentrated? He’s not marked, um … but he walks dreams like us. We talk every night.”

“What?” Piero blurts out.

A faint memory of laughter flutters in his mind and images fade as he tries to grasp it.

But he did catch onto something.

“You really can do a handstand!”

“See! I showed him that in a dream.”

“You have been traversing dreamscapes, a river apart, so you can talk to me? What sort of strain are you putting in yourself?” He asked, now feeling frantic. It slowly built up in the back of his mind, especially when the boy eyed him with confusion.

“It doesn’t feel tiresome.”

Piero gave up, he simply drops his head over his hands to let all of this wash over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Samuel was introduced earlier, but I didn’t mention his name … cause … it was kind of obvious. I don’t exactly remember where or when, but I think I heard Samuel say that Piero fixed his boat, either that, or I’ve read it in another fanfic.
>   2. I can’t imagine being in their places, watching the city slowly closes itself into quarantine … Is what I would say before this year. We had a blockade between cities in my country. We still do actually, we need COVID tests to pass the borders.
>   3. Baby is doing the lifetime job of every child, and it’s to freak their parent’s life out of them. And I can’t imagine the witches having normal men clothing around unless they killed them, so they probably gave him their own clothes and refitted it to his size.
>   4. Lonely Rat Boy did that weird interruption because Piero still had engine grease on his forehead.
>   5. I like to think that Piero sold bonecharms because he actually made it. In game context, he would have made it in his dreams.
> 



	8. Chapter 8

Oddly enough, he had received begrudging respect from the coven. Unlike the respect the boy had been garnering for his magical abilities, Piero was such an oddball to them that they didn’t seem to know how to interact with him.

It did not help that he simply saw himself as a Natural Philosopher more than a practitioner of anything, his ability to write in runes notwithstanding.

He does contemplate the ability as he readies himself to walk back to the boat. Did he ever do something like this in the academy? It could explain some of the … attitudes he garnered during the years. He sighs, shaking his head, and knowing he will never find out. He does not want to find out.

“Papa?” He heard from the door, and Piero turns around to see a fidgeting child as he tried to hide himself away.

“What is the matter?”

“I’ve been learning ritual magic,” he mumbled. Piero grimaced, but nods. “I- I- I need some of your blood.”

“My blood?”

“You are … connected,” the boy didn’t seem to know how to express his words. The odd way of phrasing in his words still ever-present. Piero did not berate him, knowing full well that this is his fault for never teaching him how to speak properly, and then leaving him with the witches and their archaic ways of communicating.

“What will this ritual do?”

“It will … make us more connected?”

“More connected?”

“I-” the boy’s voice closed in of itself, and he shyly looks down. “I want us to be family.”

“We _are_ family.”

“Real family.”

“Lad,” Piero said, reverting to his mother’s way of speaking. He tries to change his tone to the one she used on himself when he was the boy’s age. “Real family doesn’t come from blood. It’s what ye make from the people around ye.”

The child’s head perked up, especially at the accent.

“Will, I want to make us a family.”

“Are we not already?”

“Oh …” The boy scratched his head before nodding. “Alright, but I’ll still want to do it later.”

“Alright, next time.”

Breanna stopped him before he could leave the grounds entirely.

“You need to come back so we can test your ability completely. Plan for a week of stay next time.”

Piero couldn't help the uncomfortable look he must have sported at the order, and Breanna wasn't considerate enough of his feelings to hide her contempt of him. He gives a muted agreement before deciding that escaping her sight was mandatory for his continued living.

When he sees Samuel once more, he felt somewhat despondent. There had been a certain freedom in the manor, where anything he did goes without scrutiny … at least not as much scrutiny as it often yielded. It usually felt that social rules did not exist there, and one can be themselves.

He wasn’t immediately hated upon for his sudden reading and writing abilities of an ancient language.

“Something happened, Master Joplin?”

“Master?” Piero asked, what was with the sudden use of his title?

“You’re a Natural Philosopher, aren’t you? You even have the ring,” he points at his fingers. Piero’s hand fluttered to the ring as if trying to hide it from view. He then sighs with resignation before nodding.

“Nothing much, I’ve discovered things during my stay. The … matrons taking care of my son have requested for me to stay with them for a while, something about … scribing.”

“Scribe work? That doesn’t seem to fit a Natural Philosopher.”

“It’s of a foreign language.”

“Ah … Morleyan?”

“Morlish- How did you …” Piero looked at the man strangely. The man shrugged, steering the boat slightly when they were faced with a larger than normal wave.

“Only Morleyan people say Morlish.”

“I was born in Dunwall.”

“You don’t look exactly native to Gristol. Your hair’s ginger when it hits the sun,” Piero’s hand went up to his hair before shrugging. The rest of the empire has dark hair, rarely did anyone with blond or ginger hair appeared … unless you were from Morley, that is. “Now, I don’t hold grudges, and it’s been more than thirty years since the insurrection, closer to forty, but I can understand needing to hide even after all these years.”

“Mr. Beechworth, you are the most understanding person I have ever met,” and Piero has met a lot of people.

** 0o0o0 **

Walking the empty city did not feel as daunting as it usually did.

He watched as the skies were devoid of any stars, the light springs from below to cover the vastness ahead. He blinks for a moment before continuing on.

Starless, moonless, filled with greyish clouds ready to rain, it never had phased him.

“My dear Piero,” his companion called. He stops to listen. Though cryptic his words may be, it left him some meaning behind that he usually understood. “You have always done some fascinating things in life, drawing from the cracks in the world to fuel your mind.”

“It is not intentional.”

“You are the closest person to experience what I did in my every conscious moment,” the figure said, gliding next to him. Piero felt a shiver run through him before steeling himself. “It may be a blessing that I continue to sleep, seeing as you lose everything the moment you opened your eyes.”

“Is there something bothering you?”

“My mark is only given to those with the potential to change the course of history.” Piero blinked, letting the information play in his mind. “The women I have marked, one already perished, one seeks my attention by bizarre rituals, and one is about to rule the empire if nothing were to stop her.”

“So many women marked,” he mumbled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck as he remembered his mother. “They do say that to teach a woman is to teach a kingdom.”

“The men I marked, one continues to kill for coin, and a child meant to die,” Piero raised a hand.

“I do not need to know more.”

“Now that his existence continues, I wonder what he shall accomplish.”

“If he can change history, then it must be something important, right?”

“Humans tend to think that their actions are important because of one slight suggestion.”

Piero woke up the next morning feeling slightly inebriated.

He felt as if he missed an important opportunity for something. He couldn’t tell what it was, but he forced himself to get up and drink himself silly with his tonic.

He needed to fix a watch today.

** 0o0o0 **

“I am getting nowhere!” Piero finally snapped, the men who had been working around him all stopped to stare at him before reluctantly going back to work.

This did not make any sense!

He needed the study the plague victims, needed to test his newly reformulated tonics, to try and find which ingredients worked best for who. He could not, however. Sally had forbidden him from any more treks down the slums because of the rising numbers of weepers. It has gotten to the point that the homeless simply abandoned it and started living on the alleyways above ground.

Piero bit his lips.

How was he going to continues this?

He needed subjects, plagued subjects. But those people tended to hide lest they are caught by the watch. Weepers can be tested on a pinch, but they were too dangerous in comparison.

Not to mention, the blockade and quarantine are now affecting the arrival of merchandise to the capital. No ship captain is mad enough to sail through a plague infested city. Thus, more and more of the items are dwindling. Piero has a scant few of what he needs and had saved them up until he has use of them.

If only he had access to the academy resources, it was on the edge of the city, and their shipment isn't as affected. They also employed quarantine, none of the students or staff are to leave or enter until they have been thoroughly tested for sickness. Only a few of their members left the confines of their walls for resources that couldn’t be garnered from shipments.

“The boss is calling you,” someone yelled from below the rafters. Piero rubbed his face before forcing himself to get off his table. All his notes are somewhat rearranged, his research papers slightly derailed in their arrangement the deeper he was in his study.

He picks up the journal with the ingredients, hoping that Sally might agree to scour the items for him.

He hides the note in his inner pockets, patting the humming bonecharm in slight reassurance before tightly closing that specific pocket close. He checked on his tool kit and wrench, then checked his tonic. He only drank half of it today, planning to drink the other after dinner in substitution for water. Already, he can feel the thirst growing inside him.

Echoed steps followed him as he passed the descends from the rafters, the metallic cold stairs did nothing but marginally holding his weight. The rust could be ignored as nothing but age eroding it away, Piero slept better thinking so.

It was one of Sally's hideouts, there's no denying how the acquisition went, usually with no witnesses left behind.

“Cousin?” He asked as he steps into her office, only to freeze in his place the moment his eyes lay on the tonic in her hand.

A red tonic, unlike the blue ones in his design.

“Health elixir, by Anton Sokolov.”

“Does it … does it actually work?”

The grim expression she wore was all the answer he needed.

Damn that man.

“Is it a cure?”

“No, it’s like yours, preventative. But sales are now affected because people want-”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he grumbled as he went to the chair and sat heavily on it, hiding behind his palms. “They would trust the great Anton Sokolov over the crackpot Piero Joplin.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, people are still buying from us, just not the nobles no more. They like ‘exotic’ and ‘expensive’ things. We can’t force them into paying higher prices now.”

“Oh … at least there is some use. Is this all? I’ve been meaning to ask if you can send your men to find-”

“No, wait a second. We wanted you to recreate Sokolov’s drink so that Slackjaw can sell it. We’ll gain part of a profit since it’s you who’ll do it.” Piero doesn’t say anything, he only stilled in his place, staring blankly ahead. “I know you don’t like that man, but this is for the money, and we can use that money for your ingredients. How about this, give me the list and I’ll start-”

There was an explosion coming from somewhere inside the hideout, the two of them sprang in their spots. Sally already had her knife out, while Piero’s own hands fumbled with each other's fingers, feeling jittery.

“That- That wasn’t from my lab.”

“Aye, ah noticed. Hide here, I’ll go check on it.”

He did not know how long he stayed in the office, pacing back and forth, unable to see what was happening outside. He can hear some clashing of steel, exploding bullets, and his self-preservation screaming at him to move.

Then the doors opened, and it wasn’t Sally that came in, it was one of her lieutenants.

“You need to get out of here, watchdogs are crawling the place!” He said somewhat hysterically, and Piero cursed.

“Why would the city watch-”

“Why else!” The man snaps at him, he usually showed more restraint when he dealt with him, but today was not a good day to be patient.

“My- My research! I need to gather my research!”

“No time!”

“But- but- the cure-” The lieutenant slowed in his movement a bit, a look of conflict ran over his face.

Everyone knew well enough that Piero had been working on a cure. He already has the remedies, and they worked. Everyone liked to help somehow, after all, it was nice and dandy at first until no one has any money to rob from.

No plague means more business.

“What matters is your brains, not your notebooks, go!” The lieutenant decides to say. He then grabs him and forces him to run. Piero can already see the guards below, shooting and yelling as the other boys used some of the weapons he provided.

He can see his cousin already stabbing someone in the chest with no problem, even with her short range of attack.

“S-Sally-”

“She can take care of herself, it’s you we’re not sure about,” the lieutenant mumbled as they reached a passage-

Only to be spotted, evident by the bullet that almost struck them in the head.

“You blight of a bastard!” Sally screeched, witnessing his almost murder. “I’ll have yer head for that,” she roared as she jumped on whoever had shot them. Piero turns his head for a moment to see, only to have it turned back against his will to the front of a vent, mostly used as a window.

“Jump!” The man yelled, and Piero’s eyes widen at the distance between him and the waters below.

“It’s nighttime,” he said, horrified. “No one jumps in Wrenhaven at night!”

“Desperate people do!”

“No! What if we see faces, or meet a leviathan, or the leviathan himself, what-”

The man pushed him, and all Piero could do was steel himself into plunging to the cold waters of the river before forcing himself to turn around, trying to ignore the whiplash of winds slashing his face, to stare at the man as he readies his pistol and turns back inside to the fight.

Then came a splash, and the waters surrounded him, pressing on him from all sides. Piero kept staring as he continues to float underneath the waters, the tide moving him, pulling him to its depths.

He can breathe underwater.

After crossing a great distance away from the hideout, he pulled himself on the canal that was adjacent to where he had been. He stares in numbness as the factory exploded from the top, smoke rises in the air as the flames licked the skies.

Loss.

He felt a sudden overwhelming loss.

With shivering and trembling limbs, he forced himself up, rubbing his arms to gain some warmth.

The factory is now _gone_.

He lost all his research. Lost his second home. Lost his only family.

He was the only Joplin left …

He just lost everything.

He pulls out the bonecharm in his pocket, which hummed even stronger in the waters, and kissed the bone before thanking it for saving him. He knew well enough that it was the charm’s fault that he was able to stay for long underwater, like a fish swimming in the vastness of nothingness.

Then, the charm is hidden away in his pocket once more, the list he had in his hand had dripped ink, barely comprehensible, an illiterate child would mock it.

Child …

He looks back at the river.

What was he going to tell the boy about aunt Sally?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Just adding the “ish: at the end because I’m used to that more than “an” that they used in canon. Think about it. British, Irish, Scottish. Make more since if it’s Gristolish and Morlish. Serkonan though is … hmm … Italian, Spanish, Latin, but mostly Italian so I’ll let that slide. Tyvian is alright, cause it’s Russian and Scandinavian in general. So, I’ll just write that it’s a racist thing that Gristol says Morleyan instead of Morlish. I mean, let’s face it, they kind of are racist against everyone else.
>   2. Can we think of the implications where some eldritch monster likes to visit you every night when you sleep?
>   3. The end of Black Sally gang, as foretold in a book in game.
> 



	9. Chapter 9

“Master Piero?” Samuel Beechworth asked the moment he laid his eyes upon him. “It’s a touch bit earlier than usual for our trip.”

“Oh, thank the-” he gasped before sitting on the curb of the canal. “Void. I thought I had to bargain with someone in order to- Take me to Clavering, please. I’ll pay you the next time we have our trip.”

“What happened to you? You’re soaked to the bones.”

“Watchdogs,” he grumbled. The man raised a brow before Piero blushed at the term. “I mean, watchmen, they- uh … my place is gone to the fires.”

Beechworth looked at him with some pity, then pats the seat on the skiff.

“Get on, then. You sure you want Clavering? They have more watchmen there.”

“Aye, my- my-” friends? “Colleagues. They live there. Either way, the watch only wanted other people, I am the casual collateral damage.”

“We all are, aren’t we?” Samuel said, nodding, as he unties the boat.

He must have dozed off, because the sun has already peeked over the horizon, and Piero blinked at it for a second too long before it started to sting from the heat. He continues to think about what to do next. He cannot go back to Waterfront, not after that fiasco. He would need some time, and-

“You going to be joining your son now?”

“I may or may not, I have too many responsibilities to …” But what can he do? “All my research is gone.”

He couldn’t speak anymore.

All his hard work.

The inventions that were on hold.

His lab on the rafters.

The flames had eaten it away, most likely nothing was left, and he couldn’t hope to go back and search for any surviving item, not when the watch is probably condemning the place and searching it themselves.

“I just need … to get to Clavering. I know some folks there.”

“I hope they aren’t the unsavory types?”

Piero choked a laugh.

“The only unsavory people I know are my son and you, and even that’s questionable.”

“Should be feeling insulted for that one.”

“It’s not targeted at you. My son knows too much about alchemy than what is deemed healthy for his age. He … he loves learning about- about p-p- ingredients, and chemistry. Always bothered me about them. At least- at least he is safe, with the matron. And you just know how to avoid the navy.”

"Most likely because I've been a part of it before."

Piero blinked, letting that little piece of information settle somewhere in his mind before disregarding it.

When he reached the distillery, most of the man looked to be ready for a fight, and some had paused at his presence before escorting him to their leader.

“What happened? We all saw the fire and smokes,” Slackjaw demanded, and Piero gulped before reciting everything that had happened.

It had left them with a grim mood, and Piero was simply moved to one of the beds hidden away from prying eyes to rest for a while. When he woke up, he found stale bread and a cup of the remedy next to it with a bottle of whiskey.

He had forgone everything but the tonic and got up to find the crime lord.

“So, what’s it going to be now? Slackjaw has no place for Natural Philosophers.”

“No, I do not suppose you do. Sally only tolerated me because of our … familial connection.” Slackjaw was safe enough, he already knew. “Some of her products are made by me, but I am not eager in selling them to you, not if there is a chance of her survival.”

“Agreed. Don’t want her knocking at Slackjaw’s doors and have most of our men’s guts spilled out for stealing.”

Her reputation does still precede her, even to her most trusted man.

“I hope you continue with the remedy contract, I still need it delivered to-”

“Yes, yes, we know.”

“Keep my part of the sales in a safe, if any of her boys come here, give them some to start over, or if it’s Sally herself, give her everything. You can use some of the money. Umm … if I ever come back, I might need some of it as well, but I have another business to tide me over for a while.”

“Joplin,” Slackjaw said, his voice was a lot softer than before. Piero blinked and looked up at him. “She’s going to be fine.”

“Y-Yes, you are right. Of course she will,” he mumbled. “She’s Black Sally after all.”

** 0o0o0 **

The moment the manor’s doors opened, he was jumped.

Tiny little arms wrapped around him, accompanied by little frantic squeaks.

“What is this? Did you expect something to have happened?”

“You stopped- stopped visiting,” the boy said, teary-eyed. Piero gave him a sad smile as he ruffled his hair, ignoring the indignant squeaks of a mouse that escaped almost got ran over by his digits. The strands have gotten long, and Piero needs to cut it. He then ran a hand through his own face, remembering his overgrown stubble.

After settling in, he went to the matrons of the house.

“It will be inconvenient until we can build the tunnel,” Breanna said. Piero all but shrugged. “What can a mere man do against a platoon? At least it hasn’t affected the distillery, since that is on the other side of the city. Do not worry about Slackjaw, I know his reputation isn’t …”

“Slackjaw killed four gang leaders in the last few years,” one of the girls piped up. She obviously lived in Dunwall’s streets, one can tell from her accent alone. “And more. No one crosses him, but he’s loyal to his allies.”

“And how did Master Piero exactly become an alley?”

“I am … acquainted to his previous patron- my cousin. My cousin hired him before he became what he is. He is plenty loyal, like she said. He will not disclose our dealings or your locations.”

“Good, we do not need more to know of us,” Delilah said. “Until then, you might be of some use to us.”

“We did agree we needed to test your rune writing abilities,” Breanna adds, making him wince.

“There is the matter of our little mouse’s ritual as well, if you might remember?”

He frowns.

Ritual?

“I will help as much as possible, if you allow me to continue my research. Maybe some of the fauna around her would help, and you do have an excess of River Krusts …”

** 0o0o0 **

For the next two weeks, his life had come to a strange sort of routine.

He had missed spending time with the boy, who had been delighted by the news that he would stay. Immediately, the child showed him his room, and offered the hardly used bed. After a few inquiries as to _why_ that may be the case, the boy had brought closer to the ceiling – Piero couldn’t help but mentally scream that he traveled through magic – and was shown a hovel filled with sheets and pillows, reminiscent of the alley the child had previously lived in.

His squeaky white rat had run wild in the hovel, eating breadcrumbs as a way to clean the floor, he noted.

Every morning, he’d spend two hours after waking just staying in bed, thinking through life as he lets his disorientation subside. He would then gather some of the plants around the manor to study it, sometimes he would change the object of his studies and try to find access to the underwater spring that the witches confirmed of its existence.

“We use the stream to bath,” one of them said. Piero had grimaced, unable to imagine all the girls bathing together as they admitted. “Oh, look at that, the father’s as shy his son. Did you know that we took him for a swim? Couldn’t look at anyone for days.”

He spluttered, felt embarrassed for the child, then turned around on his leg and left the witches to laugh at his reactions.

Poor boy.

In the evenings, when most of the people in the house woke up, he would join Breanna to continue testing his skill. She would write something and he would read it. That is the way for her to conclude if her writing is steady or not. Sometimes, she’d ask him to write a phrase, but rarely. They had precious few bones left and not everyone is willing to go to a slaughterhouse every other day to loot them.

There were some request here and there, fix the recently dried boiler room, dislodge the ventilation fans so that the girls can move easily from the rooftops to the inside, teach some girls to read and write, or the consistent and terrifying request of "show us how to make that wonderful liquid soap so we can alter later to our liking"-

Apparently, witches always bathed in hard soap that they liked to steal from the rich or make one their own.

The strangest request, however, had been making paints for Delilah.

“I usually make them on my own, but you have better proportional senses than me,” she said offhandedly. She knew the exact proportion she would need for a certain amount, and she’d repeat the process to make the perfect color she wanted. If she wanted a larger amount, she would task some of the witches to do it.

But, most of the ones who don’t have duties usually are the least educated.

In a sense, she only wanted him to measure a larger amount, which was banally easy …

Until you add some of the odder ingredients.

“Sparrow claws?” He asked incredulously.

“When you boil it to the point of liquifying, it turns into a good sticking agent.”

Piero had to boil sparrow claws to calculate the exact amount of claws one needed.

He had to do other odd things as well, and be constantly reminded that he truly is in a witch coven. It had left him at odds. Logically, all of this made no sense. Internally, he wanted to study the reason it was possible.

And his mind picked on it, constantly. Disregarding the mark on Delilah’s hands and the abilities all the women share, his mind would see their jumps, calculate the angle their legs had been in, conclude the amount of power needed to grow a plant, see the reversal of muscles on the gravehounds. When their skin would turn, he would try to figure out what sort of chemicals would one inhabit within their skin for it to do so.

Magic, as a source, is unexplainable. Yet, for it to exist, it must follow _some_ laws.

He found it all fascinating.

It reminded him of long ago when he had been a student in his first year, of a man with a scar appearing and reappearing during his fevered state of mind.

It has blossomed his need to invent his door to nowhere, making it an obsession that he still continues to succumb to this day.

He would shake his head, forget those dreams for a moment, and spend some time with his son.

** 0o0o0 **

The ritual …

The odd endeavor that the boy had been excited about for a long time. He had been eager since he mentioned it, and now they commandeered a whole empty wide floor that could have been the dancing plaza of the manor back when it wasn’t as depleted.

Piero watched as the child wrote in runes with some difficulty. The phrases, though it used perfect Gristol in his mind, still made no sense to him.

“You still haven’t told me what you are planning to do,” he comments, just as the door opened to let in Delilah.

When he sends her a questioning look, she only raised a fine brow back.

“He _is_ my student. I would like to see what he has accomplished so far with his unique powers.”

“Right,” he said under his breath just as a knife entered his sight. The weapon glinted, unlike the other boney knives and swords the other women carried. This one was metallic.

He gulped, pulling the thing to himself as he mentally readies for what he is about to do.

“Must I?”

“Yes! Yes, we need to, we need-” then the boy gives him a petulant sulk.

Piero needs to work on his vocabulary after this.

“He had worked hard on it,” Delilah comments as she played with the air, something thick and glowing appeared in its place as black briars sprouted from the ground, making a throne of thorns form in its spot. She sits on it, and smiled wanly at him.

“Or will you back away from your promise?”

“N-No, no, it’s just …”

He had done his best _not_ to get hurt. Call him a coward, but if he were brave, he would have joined the watch instead of pursuing academics. He spent his whole life waking every morning in a fevered state, pain flaring in his mind. Trying to keep himself physically safe from further injury was the least he could do as a compromise.

Now, he was willingly cutting his hand.

“You did all this for the boy to learn control over his skills and you are unwilling to even see it, how shameful …” Piero knew exactly what Delilah was doing, and she was very skilled at it because it worked and he felt a bit guilty. Forcing the child out of the first place he thought of as home and move him to a place filled with strangers so that he can learn-

He sliced his inner palms, biting back a scream as the pain flared horribly.

It fell into a glass, and his injury continues to bleed, a stream at first before it turned into little fat droplets.

He pulls out his handkerchief, unsanitary as it was for its continued use with machinery, and wrapped it around his palm. The boy comes back with a red tonic, and he glares at it as he was offered a sip.

The child didn’t seem to mind his sudden drop in mood and ran to the other side to bring another flask, and then spills the content inside, which was suspiciously black in color. He then pulls out the two tonics, both were too murky for his eyes to pick up on their ingredients, and mixes them up.

He couldn’t stop him if the reaction would have been explosive. To his relief, the reaction wasn’t severe, only a puff of smoke fills their view before dissipating.

After mixing up the ingredients, he spilled some of it on the ground, and Piero’s eyes widen as the runes drank it up, slowly filling itself with the color.

“What the bloody void …” He whispered as the black liquid slowly thins out on the edge of the rune, turning red halfway through, before turning a very light faded shade of red, much closer to pink flowers than anything else.

He lies down on the center of the ritual circle-

And drinks the content of his solution.

“No!” Piero yelled, but was stopped by an outstretched branch, forcing him back.

He watched, feeling anxious, as the boy starts to tremble, a very familiar tremor runs through him, and Piero wanted to run at him and scope him into his arm, trying to calm him down.

Suddenly, a wave of energy broke from the boy, visible and powerful enough to carry weight against them, throwing them off their feet.

Something within reality shatters.

He fell unconscious the moment his head touches the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Samuel is the only legitimate Samaritan in this this world, change my mind.
>   2. You can find Sally’s name as one of Slackjaw’s clients. So, she’s still alive folks.
>   3. Peeping Tom Piero getting asked to join instead of watching from afar. Let’s get this out of the way, peeping is disgusting, and any girl has the right to cut off your dick (or other parts) if you’re caught.
>   4. Basically, most of the girls don’t know to multiply, or use weights to calculate. The ones that do have other more important duties around the manor.
> 



	10. Chapter 10

“He is only eight years of age, and he managed to break a part of reality,” the voice croons at him, as it slowly glides around his shoulders. Silent whisps pretending to be steps, passing his back in a passive show of friendship as he leans by his side.

Piero watched numbly at the image of the child as he quivers on the ground, the dark color of his hair had drained and seeped onto the ground as the solution in the runes pours itself back onto him.

To his dulled surprise, he watched as Delilah pulled him away from the floor.

“The materials in his potions are rare, very rare, and Delilah enjoyed showing him how to pillage for it.”

“What is this meant to do?”

The voice doesn’t answer, but the void grips him still, and he continues to walk away. Out of the manor he was, out by the river he is. He watched the faces as it passed him by in the waters, old sailor legends of the dead leading them back ashore.

Up ahead, he watched the blockade, and it held an item he has seen rarely, demonstrated when it was first showcased. The ship had been moving slowly, as if it were drifting rather than stay afloat. Another ship, most likely belonging to civilians, has been wrapped in electric whale oil blue, the people onboard screaming as their skin turns to ashes.

The city skyline is nothing but smog and the dust of the cremated dead, the lights from the windows were mostly gone, as more died off during the days. 

He can see the shadows of tallboys patrolling the cities. Their empty gazes and addled mind are the least frightening thing to see before your demise, much better than the weeping blood as teeth clamps onto your skin-

“Is this really what is to come to the heart of the empire? Corrupted and ill. What is to happen to the rest of the world then?”

“They will all die sick. No one will survive,” he mumbled. “The doom of Pandyssia will take us all.”

When he wakes up, it was to a dry thirst that begged to be filled.

He couldn’t move his hands, it flared in pain, one was sharp like steel scabbed over in rust, the other is blunt, dulled from continuous repeats of nothing but trembles that numbed his nerves. He was in his bed, but not in his room. To his surprise, he glimpsed a splay of red hair much similar in color to his own, yet it was far smoother than his rough and coarse ones.

“Wh- What?”

“Oh, you’ve woken up,” a voice announced, grabbing his attention.

His eyes wanders rather than runs to the source, the urgency of their direction still dulled from exhaustion.

It was Delilah.

She was painting, under rays of light.

He pushed himself off the bed with great difficulty, and realized all of a sudden that the spool of hair belonged to none other than the child-

But his dark hair had lightened, and his skin paled. His nose somewhat changed, though minuscule. His cheekbones become more prominent as his cheeks hollowed, his only saving grace was the baby fat of adolescence.

“What happened to him?” He mumbled as he ran his hand through his hair, it was far too similar to his own. It looked brown under the shadows, but at the right angle, if moved correctly, you can see the red.

“He succeeded.”

“Succeeded- He wanted us to become family,” he said in horror.

Oh dear … how … how is this possible?

He remembered a study where one of the natural philosophers he used to acquaint with had a running theory, about how traits are passed down. He listened to him because he was much nicer than others, and what he said was sound in his opinion, not to mention the fact that someone else had been studying plant life just like him and he could trade information with him.

They couldn’t determine what exactly determines why some are born as males or females, and why plants and animals - especially those from Pandyssia - can be both, either, or neither. Yet, they did notice how those of the same family branches shared traits as it passed down, much like humans and their children.

He remembered young Harold, ready to declare his finding, and to add that the answer might be in their-

Then Harold was taken from the world, his throat cut by the thugs, his body left bleeding on the street before he could reach the academy. Everything he owned was drenched in blood, and his writings were lost to the annals of time.

He remembers mourning him.

Piero looks down, dazed and disoriented as he realized that Harold had been so close, so _close_ to discovering something that could illuminate the world. Humanity always used blood in phrases to hint at their connections, but never before did they have scientific proof of it.

“We broke something in the world,” he said, feeling his mouth move on its own. Like glass fragments, it had shattered, leaving imprints and traps that they could injure themselves with. “It leaks, we must not stay anymore.”

Delilah paused, then sighs in disappointment.

“If that is what you think, then you can leave. I’ve taught the boy all I can, the rest is up to him. But I will not leave this place, nor will my coven.”

“This place will be the end …” He stopped, then frowned, nausea slowly filled him before it somehow dampens. “I apologize for any inconvenience I have put on you, I …”

“It had been an intriguing journey, I must admit. Having my own little witch boy to teach as if he were my own." There was something there, a smirk, hidden under sickly sweet pride. None of her considerations are directed to him, only for his son. Piero finds that he doesn't mind, as long as his son is safe, even when he is long gone from the world, at least Delilah is around to care for him. "He finally chose a name, if you must know."

The slow caring strokes of brushes on canvas had stopped, and she turns the painting around.

It had been filled with colors, the highlights were dark and the shadows were bright, and it showed both him and the child on the bed.

“How long have I been asleep?” Long enough to capture his slumbering face in painting, it seems.

“Too long, a month at most. Though, intriguingly enough, your body never decayed like many others in your situation.”

“I’m touched,” he answers simply. That was all the answer anyone needed. “Not like you, not like him. Touched, by the void. I live in my dreams.”

“And you see the unseen … Delano mentioned this. It seems that he is right.”

“Delano?”

“Adorable, isn’t it?” She said, smirking as if she was hearing a joke. “He spent most of the time in the library, trying to find any book about Morley. Then I told him that your name is Serkonan, and he despaired for a week before figuring out a way to combine both heritages in one name. He is so attached to you that he wanted to honor you through his name.”

“Why do I feel that there is … more?”

“His name means darkness.”

“Oh,” Piero sounds, understanding where her humor lay, before shaking the boy awake. The child grumbles, swatting the hand before turning around. “I hope … I hope that he only received my hair color.”

If not, then he pities the boy.

** 0o0o0 **

Two days later, there was a feast.

They had caught a bloodox in the wild and skinned it to the bones. The blood seeped beneath the manor across the pond and they all ate at the cooked marinated flesh.

Most of the girls had cried, hugging little Delano as tightly as possible as they said their goodbyes. 

Everyone had been sending him scathing glares for taking him away.

His grip was especially tight when around the two matrons. Piero couldn’t look them in the eyes as he gave them his gratitude.

“Do not worry, your stay had been eye-opening for us as well,” Delilah had said before kneeling down in front of Delano. “And you, my sweet little mouse, remember that you are within my breastbone, forevermore.”

She stood up, giving him the warmest smile Piero had ever seen on her stone-cold face.

Delano's responded with a slow creeping smile, something sharp lights up in his eyes before forcing it to die out as he was reminded by his presence. 

“Continue to flourish, I will be excited to see what you achieve once we are reunited. Hopefully, we will live in a much better circumstance. Until then … watch over your clumsy father.”

Piero blinked.

“I am not-” the looks sent his way alone told him that they thought otherwise.

** 0o0o0 **

Dunwall, if possible, became even worse than before. Two months - or was it three? - it only took three months for everything to turn into a nightmare.

Luckily, their flat had been left alone by looters. They had to dust everything for it to become livable once more, much to Delano’s displeasure.

“I’m sorry that I took you away, I needed to …”

“I understand,” the boy mumbled. “He told you to leave, didn’t he? He didn't like what I did to the manor. It feels wrong now.”

“Who?” Piero questioned. The boy shrugged, not elaborating anything as he continues to clean.

When he returned to Artemis’s bar, he noted how the business had grown slow in his absence. Some of the patrons locked onto him, something in their gaze made some dread fill inside him.

The moment the bartender laid his eyes on him, he cheered.

“I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Things happened,” he explained as he sits down. Next thing he knew, a poster was set in front of him. The Natural Philosopher paled as he took in the contents. “W-Why? Why would- why would they-”

Artemis leaned down next to him to whisper.

“Be sure to watch your back now.”

“I haven’t done anything,” he whispered yelled, feeling both anxious and frustrated at the turn of events. “Why am I wanted?”

The poster was an inked drawing of himself, mid-study.

“Wanted alive, at least. You’re useless as a corpse to the watch.”

He has excused himself for the night. The sudden feeling of being watched was too much for him to handle. Every time his eyes landed on someone, he'd feel paranoid enough to slowly speed up his steps to avoid any intrusion.

Once he was back at the flat, he grabs the boy and tells him about what he found out. Delano’s face scrunched up, feeling confused by the turn of events.

“You did work with aunt Sally and uncle Slackjaw. Isn't that a reason to be wanted?”

“Slackjaw!" He wanted to hit himself. His boy is far smarter than he is. "Slackjaw always knows what to do in a pinch, we should- we should visit, yes?”

** 0o0o0 **

When they did arrive at the distillery, some of them looked very aggrieved, some sporting injuries. Piero didn’t exactly know what to say to get their attention without irritating them further. To his luck, one of the younger members saw him and called out to him.

“You was gone for a while now, Slackjaw thought you was dead.”

“No, no I am not. Can we see him?”

“He’s been angry, and his cigar’s finished too,” she said as a way of warning, then pointed upwards to one part of the distillery that he knew to be the control room.

The moment he stepped into his view, the man’s angry expression slowly shifts.

“Thought one of them watchdogs already nabbed you.”

“Thankfully not, I left to settle with the- with the people who had been taking care of Delano.”

“Delano? You actually have a name now?” Slackjaw asked as he looks to down at the boy, sounding very much surprised. Delano nods enthusiastically. “Delano, son of Piero, a match that is.”

He couldn’t help but blush, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Do you know why I am wanted by the city watch?”

“Word is, they’ve been stumped about the plague. When they attacked Black Sally’s base, they didn’t expect to find your research.”

“My research! They survived?” He asked, suddenly excited by the possibility. The man, however, gives him an apologetic look. “What happened to them?” He asked, now subdued.

“Thought it was a weapon, they did. Took them to some Natural Philosophers, and someone probably figured your handwriting or something because the city’s filled with your picture.”

A rather young picture of himself, from a decade ago. It was a sketch, barely that. It was of him looking hunched over something, most likely a book or paper. None of the lines he had formed throughout the last few years had been present, he was young and had less troubling thoughts back then to have them.

He knew it was of his time as a lecturer at the academy. He had a specific outfit for it and usually didn't bother changing once the classes were done and go straight to work on his papers.

What confused him immensely was who would waste their precious hours of work and lab time to sketch him?

“They want you alive,” Slackjaw points out, and Piero nods morosely. “Whatever you were researching, it was important for them to put a wanted poster for you.”

“I was researching a cure for the plague.”

“Then, that’s it, they’ll be wanting you to work with them.”

“As … charmed as I feel, that offer is long overdue. Either way, I have Delano to take care of, I do not think they would allow him access to the academy with me. Let them struggle a bit, they had an early warning in the beginning and no one believed in it.”

Slackjaw snickered, “well, it’s a good time as any for you to know that Black Sally’s alive and well. Some of her men joined us, the others are with her wherever she is right now.”

“She is! Oh, this is fantastic! I was worried,” Piero’s said in relief. He had been feeling out of sorts in the manor whenever he remembered the last time he had seen her. Nausea usually overcame him. He thought her dead, like half of the city.

“She’s ordering both the elixirs in drove. Slackjaw thinks she set up business somewhere else in the city.”

“That’s fine, as long as she’s fine, as long as she’s alive …”

Everything had been going fine.

It had …

Until the nightmares came back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. The classic mention of faces in the water. Imagine being outside at night on a boat, and you look down, and you see a face … of a dead man you knew from long ago, or of someone you don’t know at all. It stares back as you gently float across the streams. That’s terrifying, okay.
>   2. Harold is an OC. He was getting to the concept of alleles and DNA, but died before publishing his research.
>   3. Delano … there’s a reason for the name, not going to say, you can probably figure it out yourself.
>   4. “Within my beastbone” is inspired by a saying in my mother language. Well … contextually inspired, I don’t think anyone would like the literal saying. Literally, it’s “cut from my guts/liver” but in context, it means “you’re a part of me/you came from me”. Usually used by a mother to her children. So, within my breastbone seems more fitting in Dishonored’s world, especially by a witch.
>   5. I missed the opportunity to write creepy Gothic/Victorian parent and child interactions here. This has been a painful realization.
> 



	11. Chapter 11

“Papa?” He heard one morning, after a night without any sleep whatsoever. The nightmares he tends to ignore decided that enough time has passed to torture him yet again.

Delano had worn one of his older shirts as a sleeping gown, and the arms almost reached the ground, trailing behind him. This would not have caused much of a problem had they actually owned enough clothes for more than two days and one night.

Piero ran a hand over his face as he mumbled.

“I think it is best to buy new clothes for you. How did the girls find things that fit you at all?” They were right outside the city, so they most probably walked to the edge. “And something to cover up my face,” he adds.

Though it took a while, if one did stare at him long enough, they’d figure him as the person on the posters. He _did_ age considerably, and he had simply forgone fixing his hair since then, seeing it as useless and a waste of time. Unfortunately, not many people had angular shaped heads in Gristol, so his profile is distinctive.

Artemis had been kind enough to give him a corner with poor lighting. His previous and returning customers had asked about his deeds, since most of his clientele were criminals that pride in such acts. Some servants would ask for his service in place of their master, or one odd brave noble that walked down the pub. For the most part, the only trouble he would ever gain was from the navy members that came down to the port for a break.

And that was fine. It was most likely the nobles or rival gangs that would say anything to the watch. Seeing as people still fear the name Black Sally, half of the problem was already taken care of.

He sighed as they passed another closed store, Delano’s marked hand clutched onto his own.

“Is there _any_ store open?”

“There’s one by the port if you’re looking for children's clothes,” a soft voice replied. Piero’s attention snapped to her, never having noticed her until she spoke. “Umm … I saw you walk down the street looking at the stores.”

“Thank you, miss,” he nods at her.

She avoided his gaze, hiding her face under her hat as she turns around and walks away.

“I even didn’t see her.” Delano pipes up, Winston squeaks on his shoulder in agreement. Piero couldn't help but nod at the boy's assessment.

As they walked down to the port, Piero couldn’t help but look down on the river and noticed some of the watchmen throwing linen-covered bodies onto a boat. Delano seemed to notice as well, and he hides himself under his arm from the grisly sight.

At least he managed to get some cheap clothes and a trunk on the side. Business was running slow for the owner, and the fact that they even found a customer was a miracle. The owner seemed to be enamored by Delano's 'polite' attitude. Piero didn't bother explaining that his son didn't have the energy to speak, none the less formulate coherent sentences at times, giving the illusion of his politeness.

That’s when he noticed the pageboy cap, and he couldn’t help but chuckle in remembrance of that woman who aided them earlier.

“It’s rare, seeing kids nowadays, at least this young,” the tailor said as he pulled another jacket for the cold months to come faster than Piero would keep up with. “Fugue Feast was the only time I only saw any, and that’s probably because they were up to mischief despite everything.”

“I have been incapacitated during fugue feast, I missed everything. It really had been a while since I saw a child alone on the streets.”

“Good thing you did miss it, a riot broke out by the tower district. It was shit. Bullets rained so much you’d think they were shooting fireworks. To think it happened while the lord protector’s out sailing the empire,” the tailor shook his head but chuckled when Delano didn’t want to get out of his new socks.

He grimaced before deciding that staying away during the feast was the best accidental decision he had ever made.

“That explained the new block on the front, they sealed the entry entirely,” he remembered seeing it from his flat.

Then he frowned as he remembered something else the man has said.

“The Royal Protector is doing what now?”

“You must have been gone for two months if you haven’t heard that one,” the tailor comments with some trepidation. “They tried to keep it all hush-hush, but you know how servants are like. He hasn’t been seen for two months, and some sailors who managed to cross the blockade said they’ve seen the royal protectors in other parts of the isle.”

“They left the empress unprotected?” How concerning, for her to give up such a valuable asset.

“To look for a cure across the isle, I hear. If you ask me, they should wait on that Piero Joplin fellow, or Anton Sokolov. Void, maybe even Luigi Galvani,” the man hasn’t noticed how stiff his shoulders suddenly became.

“Pi-Piero Joplin?” He couldn't help but squeak.

“He’s the one who discovered the illness. People talk you know, they all saw him work in the slums trying to help people before those wanted posters went up. When they did, the man disappeared. Say, you actually kind of look like him …”

“Me? A Natural Philosopher?” Piero did an awkward chuckle as he hunched over himself. “I- I- I run shipments, for the-the black markets, you see. If you want an elixir, I can get you one, I can even pay you with one right now,” he said as he pulled out a sack of coins and an unopened tonic.

“Mighty kind of you, sir. You don’t know how hard it is to get these without having to look over our backs for the watch. Especially not with the hatters and the eels running business now …” The tailor looks away forlornly. “Well, to be fair, it’s easier under them than Black Sally, she was terrifying.”

“You have no clue,” Piero whispered under his breath.

Delano had chosen a specific pair of overalls that he had taken a liking to. Piero remembers distinctly when they had been at the manor how most of the girls wore similar overalls. The ones he picked, however, had overly large pockets that he knew he’d use to hide Winston in.

They have no undergarments, which had been a concern for Piero, expecting the situation in the city to become more dire and they’ll hardly find any place for them in the future.

They would have to sew some of them themselves.

Piero is a terrible seamster.

** 0o0o0 **

Delano had skipped ahead, singing under his breath a song he must have heard while he was with the ladies. He only smiled at him as the boy jumped up and down gracefully, his movements more inhumane than should be possible, but anyone watching from afar would only attribute it to his youth.

That’s when he saw the child ran up to a drinking fountain.

“No!” He yelled immediately, running to catch up to the child and stop him. “We need to boil all the water before we use them!” He admonishes once he caught Delano’s attention.

Delano all but pouts.

“The plague is carried by rats.”

“Yes, the _plague_ is carried by rats, but there are other diseases that could be carried over by water! Scarlet fevers! The flu!”

The child sulked but conceded. His movements became even more morose as walked away with a slumped posture by his side for the rest of the day.

Once at home, Piero started cooking something, and Delano sighed as he ate the porridge.

“Camella makes it spicy,” he comments. Piero blankly stared ahead.

“Serkonans have rather spicy yet tasty food. If you want it to be spicy, you have to content yourself with river algae.”

Delano made a face.

“Can I start a nursery?”

“In the flat?” Piero questioned, then looked around them trying to figure out how to make that work. The place was mostly barren except for a few spots of sunlight streaming in through the holes. It was riskier to have the windows open and available for any thief to come through, and the watch would ignore any barred up flat thinking that the occupants are now gone. The only window left open was the one in his makeshift lab, and it was only left like that to air out any failed chemical or alchemical experiments.

“No! the rooftop!”

“Alright … just make sure no one sees you when you work on it. We do not want to garner attention. Especially not from the Overseers patrolling the area.”

Not that many Overseers were willing to come near waterfront. Some parts of the city were simply deemed too far gone to be saved. He remembered hearing the news about Rudshore, and how it turned into the flooded district instead. The chamber of commerce had been there, and the crown had abandoned it. A monument to the city's economy, simply gone and forgotten.

“Alright, so maybe not Overseers, I just don’t want anyone reporting us. Do you need something to start it?”

“Nope! Mama showed me how to do everything,” Delano said as he took another spoonful, and Piero spluttered.

“What did you say?” He demands, and Delano tilts his head in confusion.

“Mama showed me everything,” he repeats.

“Delano, you do realize that- that Ms. Delilah isn’t your mother, right? She was most appropriately your teacher.”

The boy then pouts.

“We did the ritual together,” he declares and goes back to his food. “I asked her if I can call her that afterward, and she said yes. She’s my mama, like how you are my papa.”

Piero felt his stomach rumble. Dread and unease were slowly filling his insides.

What did- what did Delano do?

** 0o0o0 **

He was sitting on top of a statue, his feet dangling from the ledge. He had been staring in interest down at the sculptor as she continues to dig.

“I’ve been wondering when you will visit me. Delano spoke much about your dream state,” she stops hitting the tool and looks at him. “I find you wanting.”

“Did you know what he intended to do with the ritual?” He demands, ignoring her spiel. He jumped from the ledge without any concern and found himself floating downwards with ease. The look of intrigue on Delilah's face couldn’t escape his notice.

“What if I did?”

“Why?”

“Hmm?”

“Why tie yourself to a child, a homeless one at that. He did not have any reputation or power for you to wield.”

“Interesting,” she murmured as she took a step closer to him. Piero brought himself to his full height, ignoring his aching back as he stares down at her. He will not be intimidated, not in his sanctuary. “It’s a shame, how fractured you are. You would have been better company if you could be yourself.”

“It’s a blessing, to forget what you see in this part of the world. Not everything is meant to be seen, and some things in this empty vacuum were not meant to be known.”

“Yet you continue to dwell, without much repercussion.”

Piero snorts, stepping away from her, and walked to the edge of the rock she had taken over in this voidscape.

“Did you not host me for a month? You must have noticed how ill I become in the mornings.”

“If we didn’t know any better, we would have called you an ugly woman hiding her pregnancy.”

“Hilarious,” Piero replies, turning back at her. “You intended for that crack to form. That was your plan all along.”

Facts. Nothing but facts.

“You wanted a connection to this world, an easier one than the mark you bear, the most direct of all connections. This is a redundant way to do so.”

“No, it isn’t. Having a connection to a marked child, who also has a connection to a man who can freely enter the void, is much better than to be governed and watched by a benevolent spirit.”

“I must admit, you are very shrewd. Clever, cunning, and shrewd,” Piero said as he decides that this was enough. “Do not visit me unless it is important, connected we may be, it is disagreeable on my part. Not to mention, I have other guests to entertain.”

“Oh?”

“Other … more entertaining guests that find you wanting.”

Piero woke up with his head pounding, and he moans as he does, his hand flailing a bit, trying to reach for his tonic.

He had made breakfast afterward, checked on the child, worked on a device, then left to the pub to give the items to the customer.

It was during his stay at the pub that he heard it, not that he couldn’t hear it, not when the whole street was screaming with the news.

“The Empress is dead! The Royal Protector has been found with her blood on his hands!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Fugue Feast happened during his coma in the manor.
>   2. Basically, Victorian undergarments consist of thneeds for men and full-on corset costume for women, I will not research this again. How do smut writers find anything for this time period???
>   3. Finally, we reach canon timeline. By this point, Delano’s been with Piero for about a year and a few months.
>   4. I made the timeline vague because they run on the idea that they have thirteen months, and their seasons are flipped. Scientifically speaking, they live in Australia and the planet’s solar circle is longer, good night everyone.
>   5. Canonically speaking, like in real life, it took a while for anyone to admit to the spread of a plague or sickness. So, this fic started a few years before the canon because of this reason. I just like the idea of someone just slowly watching everything deteriorating in front of their eyes.
>   6. That isn’t how custody battles happen, Piero. But name dropping a benevolent eldritch spirit is a good way to scare anyone from taking your kid, so I’ll let this one slide.
> 



	12. Chapter 12

The city wasn’t good to begin with.

A city that advanced too quickly under inventions that were too powerful for humanity to control.

A city that had ignored its people as they continue to fester under a disease.

A city plunged into darkness after it was struck by a plague.

A city thoroughly cut from the other parts of the whole empire.

Dunwall wasn’t a good city to begin with, but with the death of the Empress, chaos has descended upon the masses.

After too long, the city finally rests enough so that no more screaming could be heard, no more than usual. Piero found himself back in the flat and had accepted Delano’s hand to be swiped away onto the rooftop to stay at his currently growing nursery.

It must have rattled the boy to have witnessed the rage and fury of a whole ecotope below his feet from this very vantage point.

No wonder he has been whisked away here, Delano must have worried for his safety, the poor child.

“I saw green people jump to the castle, do you think they killed the empress?” Delano mumbled as he hands him a lavender. Piero frowns as he accepts the plant. He sniffed at it and noted how weak it smelled.

“They said that the Royal Protector was found covered in her blood, I do not believe that they've done … well, nothing is impossible.”

Assassins.

He _had_ been rather afraid of whalers. Who isn't?

Not even Sally would be insane enough to cross them.

Most gangs knew of each other, had this wary line between them that no one intends to cross unless they were rivals. The line between the whalers and anyone else is crisp clean. Civilians, on the other hand, simply flee away at the mention of the assassin’s presence. No one wants to get involved with them after all.

Their leader was a known enemy of the abbey, brandishing his mark as he maims and guts whoever he was paid to take away.

Some say that his coat hasn't always been red, that it was soaked by the blood of enemies and a wash would never be rid of it.

No one ever described them to the sketch artist, who is mad enough to betray the trust of a well-known killer?

But people talk, and they all _knew_ of who to watch out for, especially the forgotten folk of the slums that no one cared enough to even gut. They would see a whaler and keep silent then warn the others of their presence, tell them to stay away from certain areas, not to get falsely accused of murder.

One of them had been kind enough to warn him as well, and he had taken their advice to piss off and out of the district.

Piero remembers faintly how much he feared any of his old colleagues would hire them to simply get kill him off.

** 0o0o0 **

If it was even possible, the situation has become _worse_ in the city. Beforehand, you hardly ever saw children, only spying the little homeless ones on the side alleys or in the main streets begging.

Now, he hardly ever saw any at all.

Not that he was surprised when he himself had told Delano not to walk the streets.

The child, of course, being the cheeky little clever mouse that he is, decided to interpret it as walking the rooftops. Delano was more comfortable with that option either way, and Piero tended to get a glimpse of him when they crossed paths.

He knew Delano can take care of himself, he survived the streets before, and he now has a safe place to return to. He can 'blink' away in a short notice from any prying hands.

He should be wary of his own safety.

What irked him during this harsh transition was the appointment of the new Lord Regent. His voice simply grated on him whenever he spoke over the communication system. There was something in it that instinctively made it difficult to trust his words. By the second hour, the rules would repeat by the poor announcer stuck in the radio tower, forever a prisoner.

Piero knew for a fact that the lord regent loves his voice, and would have hogged that announcer's spot if he wasn't too busy _leading_ a city.

During this whole fiasco, Piero would come back home every night, and hug Delano as he remembers the announcements he heard during the day. The death of the Empress, the arrest of the Royal Protector, and the disappearance of Lady Emily, heir to the throne.

Something was amiss.

Yes, the watch is working on looking for the heir, but there weren’t as many as you would have expected to be sent out, even during the plague. No posters were raised with the picture of Emily Kaldwin either, making it more difficult to find her via civilians. He knew if something happened to Delano he would have contacted as many people he knew and ask them to spread at least a semi-realistic sketch of him.

He decided that, like that odd old sketch they had of himself plastered around the city, he should try to acquire a drawing of Delano.

Seeing as he personally knew no artists other than Delilah, and had no money to hire one with their already straining budget, that it would be better to draw him himself.

With massive difficulty.

Delano was an energetic child, first and foremost. He would jump or start to twitch before moving a bit, changing his expression from monotony to excitement without care about his difficult task of capturing his likeness.

There was also the fact that Piero himself, though an avid artist when it came to machines and their parts, was bugger off when it came to living creatures. He found it ridiculous how he can draw a perfect cog and arches but the eyelids of a child were the most terrible thing he had ever immortalized on paper.

He begrudgingly admits to Anton Sokolov’s skills.

“Why does it have to be on paper?” Delano asked once, and Piero blinked in surprise before contemplating it.

Delano picked up sculpting during his time with Delilah. The child, however, found it easier to make them through _blood._ That had horrified Piero when Delano displaced them back up to the rooftop and summoned a swarm of rats in a specialized cage he had worked on before it vanished.

He planned to have words with the child and the casual thefts of his prototypes, this is not acceptable at all, what if he grabbed something dangerous-

Next thing he knew, with the rats trying to escape and jumping at them, Delano simply sucked out the blood out of them without any trouble.

He blankly watched as he reformed the liquid into a shape, trying to imitate his appearance before solidifying it into red marble, giving it to him.

Piero cautiously accepted it, praised the boy for his artistic skills, but told him not to ever tell anyone about it.

If possible, not to use blood as a sculpting medium at all.

He couldn’t very well explain this ability away to anyone, now could he?

Delano sulked at the new rules.

"What do you think Winston feels after seeing something like that?" He slowly asked, which got the boy to think.

Piero mentally despaired the fact that his son was more empathetic toward rats than humans.

The whole ordeal did inspire Piero, however.

He picks metals and spools of wires, all of different quality and values, most of them are leftovers that cannot be used again.

He found it easier to sculpt Delano’s face through metals.

** 0o0o0 **

Ever since he made the … statue, he had received vivid dreams.

It was the same statue, the one of his child, but rusted over and partially destroyed on the ground.

Piero would pick the pieces and mourn for reasons unknown to him.

He hated it, remembering the moment even after waking and finding it harder to fall back to sleep in fear of seeing it once more.

Submerging himself in his work had caused some concern in the boy as he constantly tries to pull him out of his work. Piero would shoo him sometimes, not consciously, more out of the habit of trying to escape the students in the academy by using the _‘I’m working on something important, please,’_ tactic.

When the boy was successful, Piero would turn and see his face, then feel something rumbling in his stomach and try to hold it down with a tight smile as rust filled the edges of Delano's face.

Dead.

Unmoving.

Unliving.

Concerned wide eyes stare at him were lifeless in his mind's eyes.

And he smiles.

One day, he didn’t succeed, and ran to the lavatory to expel the contents of his guts.

He had discarded his glasses that day, rubbing the bridge of his nose and mumbling incoherently as he glimpses the metal on his desk, the plates twisting into a face, half made and half-destroyed with rust covering it.

He created a face.

What had he done?

Can he create more?

He can create more.

He stalls, holding himself back, knowing full well that this was fever-induced. He needs to refrain, restless hands and errant minds should never be combined.

When he falls asleep, he stares into the abyss as his hands played with more spools of wire, they all blended to imitate what could have been a chest, and he flinched as he threw it away, finding the hollowness repulsive.

He had to prevail, he had to see it alive.

The consciousness, a soul, needed to be preserved.

All he could do was capture an echo of what it once was, and replaced it with clockwork.

“Dead things, yet living in its own way, what a curious thought you have,” the voice whispered. Amused, entertained, and oh so dulled through the murky vastness of the empty void.

Piero turns around, just one glimpse for once, to see those darkened eyes and to throw expletives at him for once, for cursing him into this state of being-

And recoiled harshly as the face he was met with was a deformed skull, one oh so obviously made by his own hands, a face that he will make soon enough. He liked it, he liked the way the corners edged in sharp angles, the steady straight lines of the steel, the empty gaze in the eyes filled with glass.

He did not like the existence hiding in this guise.

It reached out for him, and Piero all but gasps awake, feeling like death warmed over.

He runs to his workshop, ignoring the time of day … or night?

He can hear the patrols outside, accompanied by those accursed tallboys. During those waking moments, he hears a pistol shot enveloping the night. Yet, his hands did not stop, it steadily continues on, knowing full well that this will be the most important thing he will ever make despite its lack of machinery.

And he is done.

He looks around him, finds the stale plate of bread and various empty tonics splayed about. He groans as he pushed himself away from the tables, rubbing his forehead as fatigue overcame him. When the door opened, he could hear a gasp, and little footsteps came closer to him.

Eyes filled his vision, carefully studying him.

“H-How long have I been- have I been working?”

“A week.”

They stay silent for a while, with Delano burrowing his head between the crook of his head and shoulders, and Piero shakingly wrapped his arms around him, rubbing his back.

“I tried getting you out, but you weren’t- you just stayed there, and it felt wrong to try and stop you. I asked mama-”

“Delano …” Piero was so tired, he didn’t even know how to rebuke that anymore.

“She said that I should just make sure you continue.”

“It’s important. I do not know who it’s for, but I know it is going to be important," he agreed, not that he was happy about it.

They both turn to look at the mask on the table.

“It feels like that place, the one where we talk in our dreams.”

“It does … doesn’t it?” He mused before slowly closing his eyes.

He was so tired.

** 0o0o0 **

“What is it called?” Delano asked excitedly, watching as his father cranks the windings once more. The statue, the shiny iron wires welded together, somehow resembling two people. They were both attached to a pole, and the pole had stretched to the inside of the box, where his father had made some intricate designs.

Once he lets go, the two figures start to spin, they would occasionally stop, turn around, and start the process all over but in the opposite direction. They would jump up, bob their heads, move their arms, and twirl, all in a pattern.

“Automatons,” his father simply said, humming a song under his breath to accompany the dancing figures. “I thought it would amuse you, seeing as we have so little, and not enough to buy a toy … and after that whole ordeal with the mask and scaring you to bits …”

“Papa, this isn’t simply a toy! This is marvelous. I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he announced, picking the box and gleefully pulled it closer to his face, watching as the light sometimes reflected on the shiny skin. Father did try to put some scraps on them as clothes.

“Well, it is not similar to any toys they sell on the market, I must admit. Though I have poor knitting skills, and pottery doesn’t agree with me.”

Delano chuckled, remembering quite well how angry father had been when he needed hollow pots for some chemical reactions he had been muttering about under his breath.

His father wasn’t perfect.

In fact, he is downright dangerous to his own safety, none the less the safety of others. He knew only how to cook fish and was terrible at talking with others, not that they owned anything other than tinned fish. He hardly ever shared his thoughts, and hardly ever look at people as if they were alive. Sometimes, he’d take hours to wake up, sometimes, it would take all of Delano's strength to convince him to sleep.

He had no artistic skills, not like his mama.

He did have an interest in apothecary, though his brand of potion-making is different than mama’s. While mama called what she did as apothecary, papa called it Alchemy. Mama’s method was more intoned to her senses, while papa’s method was more structured and logic-based.

Mama’s sculptures are beautiful, so realistic to their inspiration that painting them with colors would make it difficult to notice their static state. Papa’s sculptures were at most terrifying, intriguing in the same way Mama’s sculptures are, but somewhat odd and it usually brought a chill to whoever saw it. They carried a piece of their dreams like a pinned badge.

Papa was strict, while Mama was free.

Papa was absent-minded, while Mama is always on alert.

They both lose focus of the world once they start working on their crafts.

And they both care for him like no other.

“It’s amazing,” he said, tightening his hold on the box. He wants to be just like them, learn everything he can, and make them proud of his achievements. Make them continue to love him, and never leave him.

He feared the day they would, most especially his papa, who’s always been frail and prone to accidents ever since they met. The same fragile man who jumped and grabbed him from certain death so long ago. The only spot of kindness he had ever received in his memories. Then he was swept with waves upon waves of kindness from him.

He knew he can always grab Mama's attention, but not Papa.

“All it needs is music,” Delano comments, smiling at how his papa was still absentmindedly humming a song.

“Music? And where would it be, inside the box?” Papa mused, but his eyes hazed a bit, a thought entering his mind as he nods to himself. “A music box … I wonder if I can make one?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Headcanon, Piero is great at metal art (and drawing machinery for blueprints), but no one appreciates that because human sculptures and portraits are more idolized and so marbles (or whatever equivalent they have there) are mostly used since marble has the property to make light slight shine through like how light can shine through skin and people usually commission for portraits. This is art elitism people, appreciate all art please.
>   2. Also, Delano, honey, don’t make statues made out of blood. Piero can’t handle this anymore. He knows and lived through weird, but that was too weird even for him.
>   3. The poor boy’s common sense was twisted in the manor.
>   4. *cough* So, Dr. Frankenstein in a dreamscape reanimating the dead. Good concept, right? Yeah, he made the heart, but again, it’s vague cause our main character is an unreliable narrator who’s always in perpetual confusion.
>   5. He sees the face of death and makes the mask. Then we play with no kills, irony.
>   6. Finally, we see things in Delano’s POV. Imagine being a homeless orphan that and a kind old man with questionable sanity saving your life and taking care of you. Delano thinks his dad will die anytime soon.
> 

> 
> [Music Box Inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TwbMU4XPavM)  
> As mentioned before, I have other fics with Piero as the main character, and one of them used music boxes as plot points. Mainly, Piero can’t hear them without a splitting headache so he decides to make one that doesn’t tear away your soul. It ended up with the overseers calling him a witch though. It also based off the fact that Piero's gadgets are mostly made out of clockwork concepts with little use of whale oil. The whale oil only goes to the making of the gadgets.


	13. Chapter 13

“Well, I’ll be. I thought I’ll never see you two ever again,” kind old Samuel Beechworth said as they stepped closer to him. The man had been resting on the canal, and they were both lucky to spot him instead of walking the whole way through the bridge.

“Hello, Mr. Beechworth!” Delano said happily as he jumped into his skiff, Piero groans.

“Delano, we haven’t even asked him for a ride.”

“Oh," Delano blinked at him before slowly turning to the ferryman. "Mr. Beechworth, can you please take us to the Golden Cat?”

Old man Beechworth coughed into his hands, and Piero felt the heat on his face erupt.

“It isn’t what you are thinking! I have- I have a job there. One of the- the- devices I’ve installed there previously-” His face was close to boiling now, his head spinning with the heat and haze. “It- It- broke, and I couldn’t keep Delano alone, not when the city watch has been knocking down on houses lately.”

“To look for that poor girl, I know. Still, bringing a boy to that establishment … how old are you, Delano?” Beechworth tested the name, and it had come to Piero’s attention that only now did he introduce the child with a name.

The man started the skiff, making Piero smile in pride when he can hardly hear it's thrumming.

“I’m nine! I’ll be ten at the month of songs,” he said proudly, raising nine fingers. Piero took that moment to climb into the skiff. “Although, it’s strange how we calculate the calendar, right papa? We have such a strange strict- structure and it all flies away at the end of the year. We’re all physically older than our age.”

“One year passes when the planet turns around the sun for one rotation. The academy had been proposing a leap year for ages to accommodate for fugue feast, where every few years we add a week into the calendar, instead of calling those days as ‘out of the calendar’ but the abbey simply wouldn’t listen to the suggestions.”

“Still, they watch the stars to calculate the beginning of the year and announce it as the end of the feast, _surely_ they’d see the benefit of a leap year.”

“I think,” Beechworth comments, cutting them off and catching their attention. “That the abbey’s simply keeping fugue feast so that their men can enjoy themselves.”

“Because they’re always so uptight, I get it now,” Delano nods, smiling in triumph. Piero sighs, exasperated, but sent a grateful look at the older man.

“Your son is wicked smart, having conversations with you that I can hardly follow up.”

“He is a genius,” Piero admits, smiling brightly and feeling a warmth enclosing over his chest. “And an avid painter. Makes his own paints and unusual pigments even with so little we have. But I think we all know that you enjoy sculpting more than anything.”

Delano giggled.

“So, how has it been since the last time we've seen each other?”

“It had been complicated. Our lives had been upheaval multiple times, unfortunately.”

“I had to say goodbye to mama,” Delano sulks, and Piero looks away, feeling guilty.

“Your mum?”

“Yes, we had to leave because of- the house wasn’t-”

“There had been an accident where both Delano and I were put in grave danger. We thought it best to leave, but his … mother had responsibility over others and couldn’t join us.”

Delano sulked even more, heaving himself to the side and resting his arm under his head, letting the other one dangle over the skiff's edge and trail a line in the water as they passed. The silence was overbearing, but the mood lightened as time continued and the closer they were to the golden cat’s quay.

“Thank you, Mr. Beechworth. How much do I owe you?”

“Ten coins, though I’d like to save them up and have an elixir from you,” the man hummed as he knots the boat to the quay. “I haven’t been on land much, better to be on the water for an old man like me, but I’ve been docking onto a quarantined area for some time now.”

“Quarantined area? Mr. Beechworth, that’s dangerous!”

“Not anymore, the place is cleared out. And they’re dumping all the bodies to the flooded district nowadays, so no watch guard would come where I’m staying.”

“Still, at least tell me that the place you stay in is safe?”

“I’m camping under an old boat.”

“Of course you are,” Piero sighs, but he did pull out the coins needed and offered his half-consumed tonic. “I’ll bring you a full one next time.”

“Thanks a bunch. Should I be waiting here or …?”

“There is no need, I have a friend over at Clavering who can house us for a few days.”

“Yes, I remember that. Well, I see you’re sorted out, good luck then on your business,” he said the last part teasingly, making Piero blush.

“It is _not_ like that.”

The Golden Cat, as far as rumors go, has been closed for a while because of a plague scare. One of the patrons had been afflicted and spread it to a girl, who then spread it to others. They’ve cleared it out, and they’ve done something to the girl that no one knew what. Most likely someone had killed her by pushing her to the river without her knowing.

Management had changed as well, and the old Madame wasn’t there to greet him. Instead, he was met with an aggravating mid-aged woman who snapped at him the moment they met thinking that he was some sort of shipment.

“I am here to _fix_ the chair,” he grounds out, his throat straining. Delano did not like her attitude at all, evident by how silent he is as he stares at her. “I’m not some sort of courier.”

“Then what’s with the boy?”

“Apprentice,” he said as smoothly as he could. She did not catch the lie, his usually faint voice helped in that regard, and she points at the back door for them to continue.

Once inside, one of the girls greeted him.

“It’s Piero,” she called. “And he has a boy with him too!”

“What’s the deal with children nowadays, first Emma, now Piero.”

Piero frowned, not quite remembering a person called Emma in this establishment, or any girl young enough to be called a child by the others.

“The new Madame is …” He started, only to be cut off.

“We know,” the woman said, sighing deeply. “No one likes her. You’re here to fix up that fancy chair of yours, right? It’s exactly where you left it.”

“Come on, and don’t stare,” he told Delano.

“He can play outside in the courtyards, not like anyone’s around here anymore. I’ll watch over him,” the girl said. If Piero remembers well, her name is Betty. Delano immediately gave him pleading eyes, and he sighs before nodding, agreeing to the suggestion.

Delano cheers, and runs up to her, holding her hands.

“I like the drawing on your skin, where can I get the same thing?”

“No tattoos until you are old enough to hold a pistol,” Piero called as Delano giggled, pulling the woman with him to the front doors. He walked towards the shock room himself and starts working.

He didn’t know how long it had been, but at some point, some of the courtesans came by to check on him.

He could feel an arm around his shoulders.

“Say, Piero, you don’t mind offering us some of your elixirs at discount? The brothel had a scare lately, and we’ve been oh so worried if it happens again,” she said in a woeful voice. Piero paused for a second before letting out an aggravating sound.

“The Madame put you up to this?”

“You’re no fun no more,” she said in a sulk as she pulled herself away. “I remember the first time you were here, you couldn’t look us in the eyes.”

“Well … a man … grows …” he shook his head and felt the heat rush back as the girls laugh at his expense. “You are all lovely ladies, I assure you, but I am not interested.”

“Oh, come now Piero,” another woman said, her voice sultry in ways that Piero couldn’t comprehend. "I know the first time wasn't as fun as you would have liked, but I can talk to some of the bottle boys to join as if you're into that."

Her hand was slowly slipping downwards.

"But you don't _like_ either boys or girls, do you? You like it when it's cold," she whispered in his ears.

"I am not sexually depraved, thank you very much!" Piero suddenly snaps. The girl instantly let go but pouts at him.

"You made those things," she says accusingly.

"And you're enjoying it, aren't you. So, stop whatever scheme you girls are planning."

He kept his eyes down on the machine as he continues working.

“You know, even married men come here.”

“I’m not those married men,” he said, and winced when he bolted something too tightly that a little spark could be seen.

“What sort of woman would earn such devotions, I wonder?”

“No one?”

“And how do you explain the boy? He looks like you,” she asked, still leaning against him.

“Well, he is of … my blood,” Piero grimaced. Quite literally. “Trust me, his mother is far more terrifying than whatever your madame would spit at me. Now, ladies, I have something to-”

A spark erupts in front of them, making the girls shriek as they back off. Piero stayed by his place, staring at the electric whale oil blue color with a grin on his face.

The electric chair had been his point of pride. It had been originally commissioned by Rothwild, a man he knew from childhood. Unlike many other children, Rothwild had been mean to everyone equally, and only lightened up in his attitude when he needed something.

So, when he came to Piero with an offer, he accepted. An electric torture device had been made in the next few months.

Whatever Rothwild wanted it for, Piero wasn’t privy of, but somehow it caught wind, and the golden cat commissioned one as well. How in the void did anyone think shocking themselves was enticing, he will never understand.

He does somewhat understand finding it exciting to watch the electricity flair, however.

And it did bring a rather unfortunate side business for him, one where he …

He blushed at the thought before shaking his head. There was no more humility for him, not after what he invented.

Leaving the room, he had stayed on the first floor where they received guests. It was blissfully empty of anyone who needed entertainment, and most girls kept cleaning. He would watch them, considered a few things then sighs deciding against doing what he intended.

Would the girls honestly like to join Delilah instead of staying in this hovel? He did know that most of them came here at their own will, not forced as some of the other brothels around the city. He remembers quite clearly how the girls in the Coven didn’t care about money at all and the girls here only worked _for_ the money.

“Here’s your pay, now get out of here, I have important guests to entertain,” the madame says, throwing a sack of coins at him. Piero grimaced at her, cursing his luck for even needing to receive payment from this place at all. He continues to mentally mock her, thinking how _no one_ is willing to be entertained by her hag-like face-

He stopped when two people came up the stairs, two nobles, and twins at that.

They both narrowed their eyes at him, and he simply puts the bag of coins in his satchel and continues on, looking down at the ground.

He felt a death sentence hanged over his head.

“Kid, wait! You shouldn’t be running around here,” he heard from a nearby door, and Piero sighs.

He opens the door to find Delano had somehow managed to sneak into the back rooms of the building.

“Papa!”

“Delano,” he said in a disappointed voice. The boy blushed and stopped by his side. Piero nods before turning back to the woman. “Thank you, Betty. He must have been a handful.”

“Only a bit, to be honest. I have some experience with kids.”

“This place is painted with plated gold, if we can skimp some we can use it in tests,” Delano said excitedly, and Piero gives the courtesan an apologetic, hoping that she’ll ignore what the child just said.

“Now, now, Delano, we need to-”

“He’s there, catch him!” Someone yelled, and all three of them snapped their attention to the front door.

The twin nobles, who Piero felt ill towards, had been pointing in their direction, and there were some guards by their side.

Piero cursed.

He immediately pulled the bag of coins and shoved it at Delano before turning at him.

“Delano, go to the roofs and escape. Do _not_ stop for anyone. Go to Uncle Slackjaw’s place,” he said all of it in speed, ignoring the gasp the woman made at Slackjaw’s name. He pushed the boy in and closed the door. “Do _not_ stop for anyone!”

Then he ran.

He ran and slips by the guard as best as he could, using the element of surprise, as no sane person would run _towards_ the guards without a weapon drawn.

He just hopes he bought enough time to let his son escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Muahahahahaahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha- 
>   2. Piero “local Victorian sex toy inventor” Joplin, you can’t escape your reputation.
>   3. Sexuality wise, don’t know what to peg Piero as. Straight? Bi? Demi? I think he’s too self-conscious to open up to anyone. When he did, he went all creepy about it.
>   4. In this fic, Piero’s from Slaughterhouse row because his mother is an immigrant from Morley and worked there since no one else would hire a Morleyan woman after the insurgence. And with how supernatural that place is, everyone inside is kin-tight with each other, them against the world kind of deal. So, Rothwild would trust a natural philosopher he grew up with, and with Piero’s questionable morality …
>   5. Wanted to make an explanation as to why both the golden cat and the slaughterhouse had an electric chair. That’s it. You have to admit, it’s weird. This is the only way it made sense in my head. Piero Joplin, who’s canonically known to have made sex toys, and made the deadliest weapons an assassin can own, made the electric chair, don’t @ me, you know I’m right.
> 



	14. Chapter 14

In one part of the city, guards were seen trying to chase a twiggy man in broad daylight, looking closer to hyperventilating to death rather than escaping, on the other side was a boy who felt lost.

“What did Piero do?” Betty, the whore, as far as Delano understood from how men usually talked, asked him in worry.

Delano gulped, worry washing over him as he thought of how large those men looked compared to his father, and glared at the door. He reached out to it but was stopped by the woman.

“He told you to run away,” she said softly, and he felt distressed.

That’s when an idea came to him, and pulls out Winston, making Betty scream, and whispered to him, “Try and follow papa, don’t let anyone see you.”

Winston squeaked before nodding, dropping on the ground and disappearing into a hole in the wall. Delano turns around and starts running upstairs.

“Wait! The backdoor is- why do I even bother anymore.”

He lets the world blur, anything that was useless to him had become nothing but mush in his sight, and he can see a light guiding him, lighting his way out. Any people seen were illuminated, their eyes blazing in a menacing way that made him shy away from using this ability.

As he reached the last floor, the light attached itself as strings to a window, and he was about to join if it weren’t for his ears picking something up.

Ever since he learned to look at the world like a mouse, his ears and senses of touch became stronger. He can see sound somehow, as little waves that you usually saw on the surface of the river when Mr. Beechworth sails them away.

The sounds of crying.

So … similar to his own from so long ago.

He paused his midway climb and hesitantly steps back on the floor. He looks anxiously at the window, remembering what Papa said.

Then he took a deep breath and turns around.

He seeks out a door and scowled when he found that the doors were locked.

No problem, he thought. This was a trick he learned from Mama, and he played with his hand, letting his fingers dance as a nearby plant overgrows a branch and swayed to the lock.

The next thing he knew, the doors unlock.

He slowly steps in, tiptoeing so that no sound could be heard, and he closed the door behind him.

That’s when he sees a girl, older than him, younger than the women he saw walking around, crying behind some boards.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

The girl gasps, standing up and giving him a suspicious look as she wipes away her tear. When she sees him clearly, her expression changed.

“A boy?”

“And you’re a girl,” he retorts, raising a brow. “You don’t look happy.”

“I don’t want to be here,” she simply said, sniffing. With some caution, he steps closer to her and pulls out his handkerchief for her.

She stared at it for a while, and Delano frowns before shaking his hand at her.

That had snapped her out of her reverie, and she accepts it hesitantly before blowing her nose at it.

“Yuck, I thought you’d just wipe your face, not muck all over it.”

“S-Sorry,” she giggled before giving it back, but Delano raised his hands.

“Keep it. I’ll have to go now, I need to-”

“G-Go? Can you take me?”

“Take you?”

“Yes! Yes, please, take me! They’ve been keeping me here for- I don’t know, months now. I hate it here. They killed my mother and took me and they never let me leave. I already tried once.”

Delano felt sorry for the girl.

He knew full well what happened to girls here, well, as much as he can understand. The older boys never explained it to him fully whenever he asked, back then when he was still without a home. As far as he understood, any girl taken here turns into a whore against their will, sometimes boys too. They’d be forced to entertain some people, though he doesn’t understand how entertaining someone sounded horrible.

It’s why they told him not to get himself caught in a place like this.

“They killed your mum?”

“Y-Yes, no? I don’t know. I don’t want that to be true.”

“Well, if they killed someone, then it’s not safe to stay here. Come with me, Papa will take care of you, he’s kind like that.” A twist in his guts reminded him why he was running away. “I hope he’s alright, there were some mean men that sent the guards at him.”

“Twins?”

“Yes, them.”

“They’re forcing me to stay here,” she mumbled. Delano felt a small snarl overcoming his face. He wanted to glare at those twins, wanted to scream bloody murder at them and have their innards-

No. No, that was messy. Mama would have approved but right now he should care about Papa's opinion more and _listen_ to him.

“That made up my mind, you’re not staying with them. I’ll help you escape if you don’t tell anyone how we did it.”

“Alright, I won’t,” she agrees, nodding. Delano offers her his hand and she accepts.

Once out of the room, he climbs up the window, then looks back at her and pulled her as well. It took a moment, but she came out with ease, seeming to know how to scale a wall. She looks at the rooftops with some concern, as if thinking that nothing they can do would allow them to escape, and he scoffed.

“Hold tight,” he said, and she clutched his hands. He points his gloved hand at a nearby rooftop and lets the world wrap around them.

** 0o0o0 **

He managed to knock out a whale oil tank, which ended up shattering nearby windows.

By accident, mind you. Piero has done many horrendous things throughout his life, supplying a criminal empire with weapons notwithstanding, but throwing an explosive in a lived-in area was not something he ever planned on doing.

He had decided to jump up on some rails and run through them before a cart would appear and jump to the side. He was almost clipped multiple times using that stunt, but that was the best he could do.

He was running to the only place he knew to be safe at this time.

He was running to Slaughterhouse row.

He hoped to the void and oblivion that his childhood flat is still in place, it had been somewhere high up where guards wouldn’t usually look at, and in his frightened thoughts, he thought of it as a safe place.

Childish, he thought as he slipped and screamed when he fell off the rails.

He closed his eyes, expecting the ground to greet him, the wind cutting him from every direction, only to stop when he felt something tug at him.

The next thing he knew, he fell onto a roof.

A _roof._

“Void, please don’t tell me you’re a witch,” Piero begged as he turns his sight upwards, only to be met with a very well-known face. A very well-known, infamous, scarred, face.

Piero blinked.

“You are much worse,” he blurts out.

The man quirked a brow at him.

“Usually, people are too afraid to say things like that to me.”

And what was Piero to say?

“Well, I have faced enough for today. How can I pay you back, Knife of Dunwall?”

** 0o0o0 **

The girl had been gasping, her giggling finally stopped as they reached another district.

“That was amazing! Are you a witch? But you’re a boy, how?”

“Magic?” Delano said in a questioning tone, then shrugged. “My friend let me use his powers.”

“Friend?”

“He has black eyes, I can talk to him in shrines.”

“That’s so neat, but then-” she bit her lips. “Overseers don’t like shrines.”

“Overseers are Zealots and Watchdogs are mad hounds,” he replies immediately. Everyone he knows says the same thing after all.

“They’re not,” the girl said, sounding a bit unsure. Delano shrugged.

“I don’t know what sort of hole they put you in, but city guards like shooting at people for no reason, and Overseers usually call anyone who kind of sounds different as heretical. If they’ve seen papa, they would definitely arrest him because he says stuff they don’t like.”

He then starts climbing down from the side of the building. The girl looks anxiously at him then behind her before following him.

“I’m Delano, by the way, Delano Joplin,” he announced as they touched the ground.

“I’m … I’m Lela,” she said, before giving him a curtsy. Delano tilts his head, then imitates her. She laughed then tried to hold it in. “That’s not how you’re supposed to do it, silly. Bow your head with your right arm in front of your chest.”

“Why would I even learn how to do that? It’s not like I’ll ever appear in front of some important person, that stuff is for nobles.”

“Well …” whatever she was about to say died at the tip of her tongue, one hand grabbed the other arm in self-consciousness. “I mean …”

She didn't say anything else, no matter how much he waited on her. Deciding that maybe she wouldn't say anything else, he shrugged then grabbed her arm.

“Come on, you must be hungry, let’s go back home.”

She didn’t like the leftover soup.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how to do anything else. Papa usually cooks, but he isn’t here. He sometimes makes Bloodox sausages, but those are expensive, I only tasted it once when Aunt Sally was around.”

“Did something happen to her?”

“I think,” he grimaced. “Papa had to run away and come to get me, he said the city guards tried to hurt Aunt Sally. She’s around, but I don’t know where. Uncle Slackjaw talks to her sometimes.”

“Slackjaw ... that’s a funny name.”

“His real name is funnier, but I can’t tell you what it is, it’s a secret. Only me and Mr. Crowley know it.”

He chuckled a bit, then felt a bit sad, remembering how he hasn't seen Crowley around anymore. Uncle Slackjaw said that he's been sending him to reconnaissance missions, whatever that meant.

After they finished eating, he took the dishes and went up to wash them. He didn’t really focus on her much, she was just sitting silently in the kitchen, looking down at her lap with a frown. He was wondering what to do with her now that they’re away from the golden cat. He thought she’d go her merry way to wherever, but he remembered that her mum is dead.

“Do you want to take a bath? We have soap.”

“Soap? I haven’t used soap for a long time.”

Apparently, Lela was used to hot baths. He didn't even know anyone can have that, but she complained about how cold it was and he couldn't help but remind her that it's close to winter now.

The way she looked at him made felt both awkward and guilty.

"What did you do to get hot water?" He asked her instead, and Lela froze in somewhat mute horror as she evidently _didn't know._

After wracking his brain a bit, an idea came to him.

He boiled water.

"Now it's too hot."

"Urgh, why does it have to have a temperature, people don't even take baths all that much!" He complained, then splashed some cold water into the bathtub, which turned out to be a splendid idea, as it made the water feel _just right._

He felt a bit irritated, Lela just sounded ... _spoiled._

After a while, he had to share his clothes with her, and he gave her the ones he doesn’t usually wear. He stared at her normal clothes and marveled at how white it was. Whoever owned such bright clothes?

If it weren't so fluttery, he would have taken it for himself.

They sat in silence as Delano waited by the door, feeling worried the more time passed without his father around.

“Delano?” Lela called, and he raised his head. “You aren’t talking anymore. Are you worried?”

It took a moment, but he nods.

“Papa isn’t like other men, he gets sick in the mornings, so I’m worried that he’ll be outside by that time.”

“Will you feel better if I wait with you?” She asked, fidgeting in her place. After a moment, he nods in acceptance, and she sits down next to him.

“I miss my mother,” she mumbled at the end.

“What will you do after this? Do you want to go back home?” He asked her, and Lela stares at the window, frowning before shaking her head.

“I have to … I have to find my father first.”

“Where is he?”

“They told me that they had him killed, but I don’t believe them."

She sounded confident.

** 0o0o0 **

He lost the bonecharm.

Not that it was much of a loss, but it was still a bonecharm he owned and found comfort in. It turned out that the knife of Dunwall liked collecting these items, and had the ability to find them somehow, which ended up with them meeting the way they did. He did not understand why Daud saved him at all, he could have left him to splatter on the floor and turn into a puddle of human remains, and _then_ pick the bonecharm off of his body.

Must be to avoid the rats, he supposed. They could eat through bones if they wanted.

Still, he had to give up his charm. That thing had kept him warm whenever he felt a chill in the air, and its humming was somewhat soothing, no matter what anyone had said.

He goes through the interesting conversation in his head.

“My charm?”

“Yes, that’s all I’ll be taking.”

Piero rests his hand over the charm for a second before sighing and pulling it out.

“This thing saved me a while ago. Heretical, I know, but-” then he paused, as he noticed the glow on the man’s glove. He couldn’t help but yelp and step back. “Your mark!”

“You can see this?” Daud asked, brows narrowed together in suspicion, and Piero all but gave himself away. “No one was able to see this when I wasn't using it.”

“Negative. Anyone who is marked can see the others' mark. However,” he said instantly. “I do not carry one. I … I’m close to another marked person, you see, I can see their mark easily. If you find it difficult to keep on wearing a glove, then find me in a year or so, I am working on paint- well, makeup, I suppose. It’s going to be waterproof and a smudge more difficult to wipe away without a solution. An easier way to hide your-”

“Can you stop, how long can you talk,” the man demanded as he raised his hands. Piero clicked his mouth shut and simply dropped the bonecharm in the assassin's hands.

“They allow you to breath underwater.”

“For how long?”

“Umm … forever?”

Then Daud stares at it, his eyes glazing yet focusing all the same. Piero raised a brow at the action and remembered that Delano does the same thing, only with more hand movements and sniffing involved.

“It only lengthens the time you can spend without breathing, it does not allow you to breath underwater.”

“Oh, my apologies then, it was how it worked for me. Good luck on whatever assignment you were on. I hope we never cross paths again.”

In hindsight, Piero still doesn’t understand how he survived that conversation at all. He went up to the knife himself and told him off about makeup and ways to hide a supposedly hidden mark.

“You know, it’s a good thing I followed you as best as I could,” someone said, surprising him during his long nightly trek. He couldn’t help but let his face split into a smile as he finds none other than Mr. Samuel Beechworth himself.

“Samuel, may you hopefully join the cosmos as a celestial star after your death,” Piero said as he plops down on the skiff without care, ignoring the dangerous tilt.

“That’s a great honor that I’m sure I’ll never receive,” the man mused as he gently shifts his weight to the other side, no alarm nor the promise of plunging into the waters would have scared him. “I think I might just join the faces in the river, guiding others to where they need to go.”

“All the more reasons for you to be above, as a destination point for others to know their way.”

“Might I ask what happened?”

“The usual,” he simpered, letting himself be lulled to the waves. “Watchdogs.”

“For a Natural Philosopher, you sure do get yourself in a lot of trouble.”

“You do not even know the half of it. Before the plague, I released a medical journal informing the public of an emerging disease, and the government sent their officers to arrest me for ‘causing panic and fear to the public’, now look at us.”

“I think I heard of that one,” the man hummed. Piero wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t realize who he was at all. Samuel seemed to spend all his time on Wrenhaven and its shore. He might hear all the gossip, but he wouldn’t see the real deal himself. “Say, if I tell you I know a safe place for you to stay, but you’ll need to do something in return, would you accept?”

“A safe place? The only safe place I had was with Deli- Delano’s mother’s home, and even that isn’t safe anymore.”

“Trust me on this one, you’ll find that we’re a fine folk that you’d be joining.”

“Samuel, you do not need to pitch it nicely,” Piero said, rolling his eyes. “I have worked for the dredge of society, in the slums, for the Golden Cat, with both Black Sally’s and Bottle Street Boy’s gang. Whatever criminal activity you have under your belt, I wouldn’t rat you out. In fact, if you give me my own space to work and research, I’ll build you anything.”

“Anything, you say?”

As he finally steps into the flat, he couldn’t help but smile widely at the sight of his son, sleeping on floor, most likely waiting for his arrival-

Another boy was sleeping next to him.

He couldn’t help but blink, and decided that any question he has could be asked tomorrow. He numbly picked his son up and put him in his bed before returning for the other child and did the same.

And then he flops on the ground beside them and lets darkness take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. It just came to my attention that Jessamine named Emily after Delilah. Emily _Drexel Lela_ Kaldwin.
>   2. The outsider marks people who have the potential to bring an interesting change to the world. This is my addition of what Delano could have done. 
>   3. So, every time Piero (or anyone) thinks of a different and darkly morbid scenario that could have happened to them, it’s actually what would have happened to them in high chaos.
>   4. Piero “mister eldritch being bring me a dream” Joplin doesn’t know that bonecharms work differently for him.
>   5. Samuel Beechworth is the only valid person in this world, and I’ll say it again if I have to.
> 



	15. Chapter 15

“They kept you there for two months? That’s terrible,” Piero breathed in, shaking his head. “Horrendous. I always thought the Golden Cat at least gave the girls a choice, but it seems that I am wrong in that assumption.”

Lela had been a surprise to the household, an unwanted surprise at first, as his mind immediately went into arithmetic to calculate the new budget.

The fact that he was alright with allowing another person into his home should bother him, but it was also another child, forced into a daunting situation that she had no hands in. Her mother killed, then forced into a brothel-

It made Piero’s skin crawl.

At least she wasn't used in any sort of way, wasn't forced to _entertain_ guests, from what he gathered. It would have made him a bit too queasy at the idea, of a larger man putting their hands on a child not much older than his own son.

She had been wary of him at first. Most of the men she met lately had been none too kind to her, she said. The twin nobles especially so - Something he agreed with her immensely after they brought the watch's attention to him - but spending one day in the flat seemed to change her mind.

“We will have to go to the store by the wharf again to get her clothes, she can’t keep using yours.”

“I like it,” Lela announced, raising her hands and twirling around on her feet. For a child who had been through so much, she was still so optimistic.

“Yes, well … either way, we need to go to the wharf. I’ll have to pay a man for saving my life multiple times over, then get a cap of some sorts, I can’t keep getting caught like yesterday. If I could change my glasses …” he huffed. No point now. He doesn’t have the tools to make corrective spectacles, and he had a nagging feeling in the back of his head that he’ll still need the glass dust for something else. “So, why not get new clothes along the way?”

** 0o0o0 **

He found that Lela, like Delano, is curious to a fault, but with a dash of imagination that can get a bit farfetched.

“And pirates?” She asked excitedly.

“I’ve met some pirates in my days, yes,” Samuel said, chuckling. “Some were fine, some were not so nice. See this scar right here?” He raised his sleeve, showing a clean sword cut.

Both Emily and Delano got closer, looking at it in awe.

Piero grimaced for a bit, self-conscious not to let Samuel see his reaction. Pirates had always been a touchy subject for him, especially when he thought of his father and the fact that the man _was_ a pirate. For all Piero cares, he’d like that man drowned in the depths of the ocean.

“Fierce fellow, I’ll tell you that.”

“Please teach us how to fight pirates!” Lela asked, a massive smile on her face. Delano, instead, ran his fingers across the scar.

“These old bones can’t do that no more, you’ll have to find another person. An admiral, I reckon?” This was somehow aimed at him, and Piero frowns as he pushed another crate of elixirs at Samuel’s skiff.

“Where would we even find an admiral who’ll be willing to teach a little girl how to fight using a sword?”

“You think girls can’t carry a sword?”

“Hardly. Have you _met_ my cousin? Terrifying. Almost cut off an Overseer’s tongue for looking at us funny, and that’s when we were sixteen.” He shivered, the memory coming back to him. It had been an unfortunate morning where Piero _needed_ to get out for something. The Overseer had been suspiciously watching them until he accused Piero of something …

He doesn’t exactly remember what it was.

“Not to mention, Delano’s mother runs an association filled with women carrying swords.”

“Really? Can I join?” Lela asked, thrilled at the prospect. But Piero shook his head.

“Exclusive, my young lady. You’ll have to prove yourself first. Oh, I think those are for you know who standing by the edge,” he said, marking some of the boxes. “The rest, I don’t know what you do with them, but this crate is yours entirely.”

“Thank you, Mr. Joplin, you didn’t have to give me extra.”

“I’m the owner,” Piero says, rolling his eyes. It’s a lot cheaper to make even compared to Sokolov’s bootlegged elixirs. They make an excess of it, and Piero doesneed more of it than anyone else, so Slackjaw doesn’t question it when he asks for more supplies. They've been using it as a replacement for water on some days. “Watch yourself, Samuel. Things haven’t been going well on land.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Did you think over the offer I gave you yesterday?”

The offer, to join another gang?

He is exhausted with the moves.

But if how Samuel described the new place was true, it would be a dream. A whole building entirely for himself to work in with his research, and he can negotiate some terms with the leader, seeing as most Natural Philosophers rarely ever work outside of the academy without their approval.

Sally’s gang went under, and he still can’t find any of the men who hadn’t joined Slackjaw. They were mostly cut off of any news as well.

“I have two children with me, Samuel,” he reminded him, and the man raised his hands.

“I mentioned that, and they’ll accommodate as long as they know how to behave.”

“Samuel, bless you, but you just met Lela and you can already tell how terrible that idea is. Not to mention, Delano and his love to _disappear_ from my sight,” Delano shrugged, hiding a bit behind Lala, who was trying to hide her laughter behind her hands.

“But you’re still thinking about it?”

“Yes, I’ll meet him, at the time you suggested.”

At the end of the day, Lela’s clothes were more similar to clothes for boys. He did suggest some girl pieces, but the only girly things she accepted were the undergarments, which he gave her full reign over. He doesn’t exactly feel comfortable looking at those.

He ends up getting pageboy caps for everyone, seeing as he truly did need it, and scarves as well with gloves now that they could feel the chill in the air.

Internally, he mourned the chunk of money he lost that day. He had to comfort himself into thinking that this was not a natural occurrence.

Having two vastly energetic children accompanying you was a blessing at first, seeing as they both offered to help carry some things. But, when their hands aren’t occupied, they find other things to do to expel their energy. Mostly, they ran ahead of him, trying to test each other’s balance by walking above strewn objects.

He flinched when he heard a gunshot, then deranged laughter followed behind as a slump echoed on the street.

This place is going to the dumps.

“Delano, Lena, tell me what you two need so we can immediately get them and go back home,” he was still marveled at how numb he felt. The girl is staying with them, like how Delano stayed with him.

He just hopes it does not end with another ritual.

** 0o0o0 **

By the next week, he was back at Artemis’s pub, awaiting his recruitment interview.

He does not drink. He knows well enough that any drinks he takes would affect his dreams and his reactions in the morning, be it for better or worse. He just takes water. It looked similar enough to other distilled drinks that no one looked at him with bemusement. He had to tell Artemis that he won’t be accepting anything today either, so the man had his eyes on him from his spot at the bar, expecting trouble of sorts.

“So, you’re the Natural Philosopher Samuel talked about,” someone said as they slipped to a chair in front of them.

Piero raised his eyes to look at a heavy-set man with the broadest shoulders he had ever seen. He was old, not as old as Samuel, but definitely older than himself if his white hair said anything. He was most definitely of the hardy type, seeming to have worked from adolescence to receive that many muscles to leave him looking as spry as he currently seemed to be.

He was also wearing a navy uniform, which wouldn’t have caused much trouble in the past around these parts, Artemis’s pub was near the wharf after all, if it weren’t for the fact that people are starting to hate the navy as well for raising the blockade.

“Piero Joplin, at your service,” he introduced himself.

The man does an amused sigh.

“I am currently in an operation that needs … delicate hands for delicate work.”

Piero eyes the scar on his inner palm and nods at the man.

“Weapons or traps?”

“Both.”

“Both? What is the scale of destruction do you want to be left behind? One that catches attention … or do you want it to be of the subtle type.”

“Both,” the man repeats, and Piero paused, narrowing his eyes at the man.

“I can do … both. But you have to be specific on what you need first,” he starts. He had faced people like this, expecting miracles. They usually didn’t arrange their thoughts, expecting all the tools to be ready for whatever plan they have in the back of their mind.

They tended to forget that Natural Philosophers do not, in fact, read minds.

“We need a set of weapons that can be easily hidden on someone’s clothing.”

“That, I can do in a month or so,” he agrees, nodding to himself. “A weapon set would involve a sword, for close combat, and a pistol for ranged ones- then again, you did mention something discrete, I can devise a weapon with a much more silent mechanism, very similar to a pistol, but not as noisy.”

Then he taps the table, thinking thoroughly.

“Will the owner of the set kill or neutralize?”

“Why would there be any difference?”

“A neutralizing set usually involved more traps. Although, that would need more items, unlike the ones intended to kill. I do have- I do have a weapon with me right now if you want to test it?”

They ended up on the rooftop later on, and the man had been eying the crossbow in his hands, turning it this way and that.

“This is what you meant by something similar to a pistol?”

“It resembles what the Whalers use. The whalers, however, always reset it back to its previous position, and it usually hampers their hand movements. This would be much easier on someone with previous pistol experience- that one, the one over there.”

He points at a guard who was coming down to the pub recently.

Though Piero didn’t have any ill will against the man himself, he hated the governmental body for the headache they had been causing him in the last few years.

The admiral raised his brow before pointing at the man.

“Will this not cause any problems?”

“As I mentioned, there is concentrated opioid in that needle, sir. Yes, he would wake up tomorrow with pain from wherever he was hit, but the most pain he would receive is the hangover associated with near overdose.”

Piero noted the stance his would-be employer took, he truly was more in tune with using a pistol. He stood exactly how other officers’ stances look like to take in the target. Back straight, legs parted, one hand still while the other took its time to aim.

He had seen that pose many times in the execution block.

The man then pushed the trigger, a silent needle flies across the air, with much more force than what one would expect from a string object to accomplish. Piero, however, grins as he watched the thing let loose of the wire, made of iron and treated enough so that it acted more like an elastic string. People forgot how bows worked simply because of the newfound strength found in pistols.

Piero does not forget simply because of convenience.

The guard goes to a short tizzy before slumping with no fanfare, only later when his friends join him for whiskey will they find him on the ground and start a panic.

“I suggest we hide the body until he wakes,” Piero said, feeling a bit dazed as he watched the yellowish liquid drain into the man. “We don’t want all the men to be called here in panic.”

“This is only one of your inventions?” The man sounded impressed, and Piero nods slowly. “You really are a genius. I’m just a bit hesitant to accept you, with your reputation …”

“What reputation?”

“Since your declaration of the plague, most of the people in the watch and the navy had been bad mouthing you.”

“Well, look where that ended up? Half the city is dead, do you think it would have gotten this bad if they took my warnings seriously?”

“No, not as much,” the man said as he gives him the crossbow back. “Well, Master Piero, I think we can agree that we both can benefit each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say in this chapter. I'm only laughing at the slow resignation Piero's feeling. Another child? Fine, this is my life now. Another gang to hire me? Fine, this isn't my first rodeo.


	16. Chapter 16

“We have to move, _again,_ ” Delano was not pleased, less than pleased, very much against the very thought. “But my nursery!”

Lela hadn’t said much, she only watched them, and she rarely ever spoke in Piero’s presence. It was understandable, what with her recent experience concerning men. As far as he could tell, the only man she will ever trust completely would be her father, her questionably living father that is.

He had been thinking of a way to check if the man was still alive.

Getting any information out of Lela was like pulling a healthy tooth out, too tiresome for him to even attempt. As far as he can tell, Lela’s father was Serkonan, and knows how to throw a punch, so he can probably survive in Coldridge prison for a while more.

It was still a hassle communicating with the girl. If only he had Sally around to help him, she would definitely make her comfortable with their presence, she had an unfair advantage of knowing how people work despite her utter hate of humanity itself.

But he did have a plan, a slowly emerging plan that could help with her situation.

“We can move it up, we’ll have a whole building to ourselves, and probably the area around it.”

“But then I’ll have to hide my skills!” Delano exploded, before angrily pushing himself off the table and running out the door.

“Delano! Young man, get back her in this instance!”

“NO! No, you always do this! The moment we get comfo- comfo- comfortable somewhere, you always make us move somewhere else that’s not safe.”

“This place is safe!”

“You got chased a week ago.”

“That was in the golden cat,” Piero said, feeling exasperated by his son’s sudden rebellion.

Lela seemed to close in on herself even more once Piero tried to raise his voice. The moment he noticed, he clicked his mouth shut and looked at her in concern.

“Will I … Will I come too?”

“Oh … Lela, of course. I would not leave you behind suddenly. Not until we find your father.” She didn’t seem that trusting of his words but nods anyway.

“Are there going to be more men?” She continued.

The silence that followed was all the answer she needed before she mumbled a small and shy ‘excuse me’ and left the table, following Delano to the door. The two children left the flat entirely, and Piero slumps against his chair, letting his hand trail across his face in frustration.

Well, they were children, they did not understand many things. It was Piero’s job to teach them, and not to expect for them to simply know what is good for them.

But the way Delano looked angrily at him, with accusing eyes, and the way Lela seemed to become smaller the more they talked about the new place, left him feeling very self-conscious about his decision.

He has two children to take care of now, he can’t simply muck around like he always did.

Is this what mother felt? Is this why they never left Slaughterhouse?

But Slaughterhouse was a safer place to be at that time, everyone knew each other back then, and any oddities were simply ignored and explained away easily, or hidden from concerned authorities.

What did mother do when she faced these problems?

He groans, remembering very well what she did, and how he decided that he will _not_ follow in her footsteps.

** 0o0o0 **

Piero was a hypocrite, he thought idly as he stood next to a group of men, all listening to the overseer speak.

What did mother find so alluring with this pastime?

“He is patient, waiting every hour and every day-” The Overseer says, and Piero mentally scoffs. Oh, the being is patient alright, since he liked to settle in his head every single night. “He is subtle, for many do his work, and not know it.”

In here, Piero rolled his eyes.

Those fortunate souls, they would _not_ like knowing what they are exactly doing for the Outsider. Piero can vaguely recall, and he’s forcing himself to lose those memories by this point.

He left the foyer once the sermon ended, and huffed at the absolute foolishness he had listened to for the past few hours.

What did his mother find her that helped her? Nothing! All empty words of deluded zealots-

“You do not seem enlightened, sir,” a voice said right next to him. Little shivers ran up his back and arms, and he slowly, if mechanically, turned around to find himself face to face with an Overseer’s mask. He stared at him, looking at the horrendous snarl of a face, one made out of the shape of a dead man’s last expression in death, and shrugged.

“I came with a problem, but did not find a solution.”

There, Overseers tended to ignore other facts that they picked up once they thought that he was a ‘lost and confused’ soul looking for guidance.

“I may be of help,” the Overseer offered.

After a hesitant moment, Piero nods.

“I have … err, a friend. He invited me to live with him for safety.”

“Let me guess,” the Overseer sighs in exhaustion. “You do not know if it is allowed for a man to sleep with another?”

“N-No! Not that!” He knew that the overseers liked to say otherwise, but one can see them in a brothel or behind a bar and during fugue feast, he knew well enough that they tended to ignore some of their own rules.

They never spoke against nobles with power who tended to lean in such directions either.

And poor Samuel, he did not deserve anyone defaming his reputation.

“Then what is it?”

“It is just … I have children, you see. They are both angry with the idea, they both love our current place.” At least, Delano did so. He did not know how Lela felt about this at all.

“And you are hesitant in forcing them to listen to you,” the Overseer guessed.

Piero blinked, before nodding slowly.

You would think the man is married with kids if one didn’t know the fact that Overseers cannot reproduce, not if they were faithful.

“Tell me, sir, do they seem to have been acting odd beforehand? Were they sweet, only for them to suddenly turn on you after this suggestion?”

“Yes?” Piero said, but wouldn’t anyone be the same in such a situation?

“Were they playing by the shores recently?”

“No.”

“Did they cross the river recently?”

“Yes.”

The man nods, as if finding the answer.

“You must search through their items, and look for charms that they might have accidentally picked, thinking of it as toys and memorabilia. Then ask them of strange men they have recently encountered. After all, you never know how the Outsider influences children. They are easily molded, yes, but not as accessible as an adult’s mind.”

Piero squints at the overseer.

What a laughably incorrect assumption-

He takes a deeps sigh.

“Thank you for the advice, Overseer …”

“Martin.”

“Overseer Martin. I will think about this. I doubt that a ferryman would have affected them as much as you claim, but maybe one of their trinkets could have done something, yes.”

There, now the man is off of his back.

The Overseer hummed, before sitting a hand over his shoulder.

“Let me walk you out of Holger, then. It is much safer to be in the company of an Overseer than alone. You never know nowadays. Those bottle boys dregs like to contaminate the streets.” If Piero didn’t know any better, he’d think the man was squinting at him.

He hid the grimace that was threatening to break through his face, but nods as the man accompanied him out of Holger.

In reality, he knew he was much safer with Slackjaw’s men than alone with an Overseer.

Once they were out of the area, he was surprised by the letter the Overseer shoved into his palms.

“Tell Mr. Beechworth not to come by for the next month or so.”

“Excuse me?”

What is going on?

The man sends him a look behind the mask, and Piero _knew_ that the Overseer was smiling smugly at him. He knew the aura of such actions, lived through it in dreams and landscapes far out of anyone’s reach, and he just _knew_ that he will hate this man for eternity more.

** 0o0o0 **

Something has veristically changed that day.

Delano seemed closed off to him, something he had not experienced beforehand, but he still felt the boy’s eyes when it was least likely for him to be around.

He tried focusing on one problem at a time, where he would try to strengthen his relationship with Lela first before his son. He started by including her in some of the lessons he always had Delano in, and to do that, he would need to see how far her education reached.

It came with the unsettling realization that Lela was highly educated relative to other children her age.

It was comparable to what one would expect from a noble’s child.

He worried about whatever background the girl had come from.

Was she a bastard? A beloved bastard that had the approval of her family and had lived with them until recently?

It would explain many things about her. Her love for heated baths, for once. How the texture of clothing was rough on her skin, how small the place is. Her complaints when it came to the food that he served, it wasn’t sweet or spicy enough, or it did not have enough meat, or that they’ve eaten this yesterday, or that they didn’t eat lunch or dinner that day. She was used to full meals every day, unlike himself and Delano.

But that did not make much sense.

Her father was Serkonan, and was imprisoned. So … was the mother the noble? Did someone on her mother’s side decide that she was not worth the hassle and sold her off to the golden cat? Did the mother plead for her child’s life and the head of her household agreed when she was a newborn, only for it to change recently?

It made sense, one less mouth to feed in such harsh times. And it was a bastard, so not much is lost for the family name.

It made his head spin.

So, Lela was most likely a beloved bastard that had been kicked off because of the plague. The one who did kick her out was resentful enough to sell her to the golden cat and had her father arrested while killing her mother.

Piero notes that down before deciding that Lela may be born a bastard, but it was whoever that put her in such a situation a true bastard.

So, Lela knew her alphabet, knew how to read and write, and was a bit advanced when it came to arithmancy.

He did not know much about etiquette, the things he did know were observed during his tenure at the academy as a student to blend in. Afterward, he decided to bullocks that and spare no thought of how people saw him. They would always see him as a poor urchin from Morley or Serkonos who did not deserve his spot in the academy.

Some even thought that he might have exchanged ‘favors’ for his attendance.

He could laugh, who would exactly look at him and think he was worth that much scrutiny?

But look at him now!

He knew for sure that most of their names are forgotten, and though his own was plastered with infamy, he was still well known as the better Natural Philosopher, despite his predicament.

He couldn’t help but grin at the thought.

He was the one who made a preventative medicine after all, not any of those born nobles. He made them without the aid of the academy, nor any resources when it comes to materials or written studies.

What of them? What did they accomplish? They thought that the plague was spread through _miasma_ at first, for the Void’s sake.

Sally helped, someone considered to be scum, not any of those posh-

He taps the paper with his graphite pen, and groaned, letting a hand run over his hair.

Etiquette wise, he didn’t give a care, and she was most likely more knowledgeable in that regard than him. So, what else can he teach her when all he could offer was Natural Philosophy and innovation? What does a girl need to learn in this day and age? In Dunwall?

Survival.

Piero drops his face flat on the table.

He can barely survive himself.

What is he to do? Bring the girl to Slackjaw and ask him to teach her how to defend herself?

His brain decided to blessedly stay quiet for a moment.

He should bring the girl to Slackjaw and ask him to teach her how to defend herself.

** 0o0o0 **

Slackjaw squints down at the two children in front of him before sighing and shaking his head, leaning on his hard wooden table as he rests his forehead on his inner palms.

“Are you starting an orphanage?”

“Slackjaw …”

“Black Sally will have _words_ about this, and Slackjaw is the one receiving it, not you,” the man said grudgingly. And yes, Piero understood, no one wanted to be in Sally’s line of attack. Of course, the man would be angry with this development.

Sally would be more so, she would be bitter with the fact that she cannot meet her new niece if she had any say in this.

“At least teach them how to shoot.”

“Why not you? Do you not know how to use your weapons?” The following silence was all the answers Slackjaw needed, and the man barked in laughter. “No. Are you taking the piss at Slackjaw? The weapon maker does not know how to use his creations!”

“I know how to shoot!”

“Close up, right?”

“Sod off,” Piero grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to look at anything but Slackjaw. “Just bloody sod off, I do not have any reason to use them!”

“Tell you what, Slackjaw will be teaching all three of yous how to shoot a pistol. Sounds better?”

“… Fine.” Piero huffed. The two children silently cheered with each other, holding their hands in excitement.

He couldn’t help but look at them in betrayal.

“I also need access to an inside man in Coldridge.”

Slackjaw stares at him, narrowed eyes and calculating schemes ever-present behind brilliantly strategic yet impatient thoughts.

The man nods, agreeing to his request, and Piero sighs in relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Lonely rat boy going through the teenage years before becoming a pre-teen. To be fair, Piero does move around a lot in this.
>   2. Overseer Martin tested Piero and liked him instantly when he defended Samuel, if you’re wondering what that was all about.
>   3. While we’re on the topic of Overseers, who thought that it’s a good idea to make a mask out of a dead man’s face? Who?!
>   4. Piero is so close to the truth yet so far away, if only he knew about our Lela here, if only he knew.
> 



	17. Chapter 17

Piero was talentless when it came to using pistols.

Delano and Lela on the other hand, are the newest pride and joy for the king of the underworld, as Slackjaw liked to remind him every second he could.

He sat outside by Clavering street, trying to simply get away from the annoying boastful yells the man keeps sending his way, and decided that a cigar wasn’t a bad idea after all.

It might have made him cough harshly at first, but after a few puffs, he starts to get the hang of it.

The buzz that followed was also nice, so he can’t say much against it.

He saw another patrol passing by, and one of the guards sent him a look of suspicion.

“What?” He demanded, annoyed by any interruption when it came to his new recreational activity. He did not need any more trouble now, he just wanted to relax.

“You seem oddly familiar.”

“I work around here,” Piero replied bluntly, dropping the cigar and pressing hard on it with his shoes. It doesn’t matter if it will ruin it, not when it was so old that it needed replacing months ago. There is no shoemaker he trusted to go to anymore, the one he liked had died of the plague.

“What do you do?”

“What do you need?” He replies instantly.

“Black market, huh?” The guard mumbles, before giving him a sly grin. “Slackjaw’s man? You seem scrawnier than you’d expect from those brutes. Got any elixirs you can kindly spare?” He asked as he pressed closer to him, and Piero couldn’t help but grimace.

What a poor intimidation tactic.

Piero puffs smoke at the guard’s face, who instantly started coughing at the sudden attack, and Piero shoves him before running away from his grasp.

“Stop! You’re under arrest!”

“Not bloody likely!” Piero screamed as he ducked into an alleyway.

So, he might have slipped, on a vein of all things, and the guard caught up to him. He sighed as his mind worked against the buzz of the cigar, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to use it after all.

“Right, you will do as I say or-”

“What? Throw me to the cells? Throw me over the river after slicing my throat? Feed me to the rats?”

“What is wrong with you, I’m not one of those types.”

“Oh, no, you’re just the type that likes to threaten any person off the streets to do your bidding. Take away their livelihoods, force them to sacrifice whatever income they have for your pleasure-”

He was roughly shaken, forced to shut up afterward through a look alone. The man seemed angry, unaccepting of what people viewed him as. Piero did not have the energy to rebuff him. Let him stay delusional.

That’s when he spied a shadow behind the guard.

Piero squints and marveled as an old lady got closer, muttering to herself with deformed hands twitching in every direction. Her hair was styled in a way reminiscent of nobility, but with how tattered her clothes were, it was obvious that she had fallen from grace.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, dearie,” the old woman crooned.

The guard turns around, blocking Piero’s view.

The next thing he knew, the guard screams, a sound closer to keening than shouting as terror settles in, and let go of him.

Piero hits the ground harshly, hitting his head with an echo of a scream following his unconsciousness.

** 0o0o0 **

It was a docking building, as far as he can tell. Used to pull the skiffs inside when it needed to be fixed. Sometimes, it was used as storage for extra fish to let it dry or freeze. It was quaint, as far as living quarters go.

He fell in love with it instantly.

There was a door, but it wasn’t a door. It was bricked, but it was open, and he hummed as he felt his hand pass through it experimentally.

The steel stairwell will be the end of him. One misstep during his fevered fits and it will crack his skull wide open.

But it was perfect.

The doors were wide, the window on the second floor let the air flow in. He can sacrifice the bed for the children, he would never let them out of his sight. As to where he would sleep himself? He had no clue, but a makeshift of clothes and sheets would help, or make space under his table as his designated sleeping space.

The ground floor would be filled with his creation.

“Is it to your liking?” The voice asked, the amused non-steps could not be heard as it settled next to him. Piero couldn’t help but growl.

“Are you here to search for more amusement? Laugh it up at the lost misfortunate fool that found himself sleeping in the slumps of the city?”

“No need to be so hostile. Did you not receive help?” Saccharine drips of interest stained his shoulders as lips slowly neared his ears. “Would you like another sort of help? Your son?”

“My son stays out of this.”

“It is not my choice to take, dear friend.”

It laughed as it pulls away.

** 0o0o0 **

Piero groans as he felt the tendrils of reality snatching at his fingers, poking at his thoughts. His eyes split open with exhaustion, and he couldn’t help but glare at the ceiling with an unfocused gaze.

His hand taps at his side, looking for his spectacles, but to no avail.

He gives up and pushed himself off the bedding to have a wider view, only for nausea to get him, and his arms wrapped around his abdomen as his brain squeezed in utter discomfort, his mouth-watering in a way that told him he-needs-to-leave-now-or-risk-losing-more-blankets-

He saves the bed, he does not save the floor, and he discards whatever had been in his stomach near the door before it opened.

“Joplin?” Someone called, and he moaned at the assault of sounds hitting the walls and reflecting into his mind. “No, none of that. Can’t have the only doctor around getting sick on us, Slackjaw can’t afford another Philosopher.”

“Slackjaw?” He asked as the man pulls him off the floor. Now that he stood, closer to the other’s face, he could see the disgusted expression that he wore at the smell.

Unfortunately, this will not be the last he smells it, as Piero found himself kneeling forwards.

“H-How long?”

“Two days now. Got the two tykes in a worry.”

“Delano, Lela,” Piero moaned as he pushed himself off the man, ready to find the two children. “Have to make sure they are fine. They are too young to be around here. What is wrong with me?”

“Right, there are kids around here, not everyone is lucky enough to be adopted by someone like you,” Slackjaw grumbled before carrying him off the floor with no shame. Piero squeaked, trying to hit his arms, but the man simply deposited him back into the bed. “Slackjaw be saying that you need some sleep. Don’t worry about those two.”

“But-”

“If you are found out of that bed, you will never see another scrap of paper ever again.”

Piero's mouth doesn’t open, doesn’t dare to. He looks at him with a frown before giving up and closing his eyes in exhaustion.

He wasn’t sure how long it took to wake up once again, but the next time he did, he found the two children hovering above him.

He did not speak, found it too tiresome to do so, but he does spread his arm over Delano before offering it to a slightly hesitant Lela.

“I think I met a witch before passing out,” he croaked, and Delano sniffed with a wet chuckle following the sound. “Delano, do not ever turn into an old man if that is how you will end up like, for the love of the void and the cosmos above, do not let me catch you murdering people through rats.”

“Papa doesn’t have to worry,” the little boy assured him, burrowing his head into his chest.

“Well, that is enough sobbing for one day. What happened when I have been disposed of?”

“Umm … we fixed your spectacles,” Lela offered, and Piero blinked as he felt the round lenses gently put on his face. It was fixed in a way that children thought it fixed. The rims had been broken and were welded close. It must have been the work of Delano who thought he was doing a good job. There were old cracks, but it had been heated enough to melt itself together into a mockery of a transparent plate.

The ability to see through that part is now non-existent. Fortunately, it had only been the edge of one glass rather than the whole thing.

“Fascinating, and which Natural Philosopher has done such a marvelous job?” The two giggled, covering their mouths. He couldn’t help but open his mouth, acting surprised. “No … two Natural Philosophers! You both make me proud.”

** 0o0o0 **

Delano had been the one to hold him up, despite being smaller than everyone else. Lela was the one to open the door to the apartment.

“You two should not be this vigilant,” Papa said as they walk inside, slowly.

He hasn’t been able to walk in a normal gait since he has woken up, eyes hazing from time to time and mumbled lectures escaping his lips whenever he thought himself alone. He might have ignored it or told them to ignore it, but it was hard for both Lela and Delano to do so.

Uncle Slackjaw said that it was temporary, anyone who hit their head the way papa did always went through the same thing. Uncle Slackjaw saw many of his people go through the same thing and came back normally in a few days or weeks.

“I need to work.”

“You need to rest, Uncle Piero,” Lela said, huffing once she made up the couch for him to sit on.

“Well, I cannot afford such luxuries. How will we buy food for the rest of the week if we did not have any money?”

Lela fell silent.

She never did think about money, now that Delano thought about it.

“We can … help?”

“No,” Papa bluntly said, shaking his head. “Never. Not with my job. You both are too young, and the sort of people I meet are not kind. It’s all business for everyone, and as long as they get what they want they do not care for the method they impose to reach it.”

“Did anyone hurt you?”

“Most people are hurt, Lela,” he told her softly, patting the couch for her to sit on, which she did. Delano didn’t need any encouragement and joined them on his other side. “Every person who has ever lived has been hurt at some point in their lives. You know your own hurts. Delano is hurt because he is not with his mother, and I fear that it might be my fault.”

Delano does not say anything, feeling both justified and guilty at the same time.

“But is anyone hurting _you_?” She emphasized the last word.

After a long stretch of silence, his papa sighs before sinking himself into the couch.

“I was born in this world in pain and will leave it in pain. But I supposed the one person that truly hurt me was Anton Sokolov,” he said, staring at the ceiling above.

Delano frowns, and Lela’s expression was filled with surprise.

“W-What?” She asked, sounding very confused.

“It is ‘Excuse me’ not ‘what’ young lady, you know better.”

“Excuse me,” she said with indignation this time.

“Much better,” Papa nods, and Delano watches in slight horror as Lela slowly turned red from anger. “You see, I’ve worked under Anton Sokolov before, the man is an absolute scamp!”

“That can’t be possible.”

“Oh, it is absolutely possible.”

“But he’s the greatest Natural Philosopher in the world,” she tried to explain, only for Papa to snort. _Snort._ Papa does not snort.

“He is not the best Natural Philosopher in this side of the celestial body. I bet you that there is a smarter person in Pandyssia.”

“Can you even prove that!”

“Well, if I went on a voyage to the continent, I immediately prove my hypothesis.”

Delano choked.

He couldn’t help but stifle his laugh. Uncle Slackjaw was right, Papa does have a big head.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Lela fumed, and Papa chuckled.

“Well, until you understand, you will not be helping in the business. You need to be smart enough to outwit anyone.”

“Not fair, you’re an adult.”

“Adults can be rather cruel, can’t they?”

Lela huffs, pushing herself off the couch and stomping her way into their bedroom, slamming the door behind.

“That was mean, Lela actually likes helping,” Delano comments once he stops laughing, but Papa hums and absentmindedly nods.

“Unlike you, Lela needs to learn of the world first before trying to help me with anything. I cannot in good conscious … release her into the wilds. Maybe if you show her the ropes, Delano ... Until then, I do not trust her safety with anything outside of our sight.”

“… okay …”

“Now, why don’t you do … whatever it is you two always do out of my presence. Have some fun. I do not think I am delivering any lessons in the next week.”

** 0o0o0 **

To his great pleasure, Slackjaw did have an inside man in Coldridge, a _recently_ converted inside man.

They meet in the distillery, in a room that was mostly used to torture someone into submission, if the rusted coppery smell hanging in the air signified anything. Piero had been nervous the whole time he was there in the room, watching apprehensively as two of the bottle boys drag a watchguard inside and plopped him on the chair in front of him.

“Did you have to- to-” He tries to ask, noticing the man's disheveled appearance.

“Do you want him or not?”

“Yes,” Piero answers immediately, and Slackjaw pats his back before walking towards the door to leave him alone.

“If you be needing anything, yell.”

“That is not as reassuring as you think it is,” Piero replies.

The man in front of him flinched when the door slammed shut, and he stares at him with slight fear, his skin paled and eyes bruised with what could be a lack of sleep.

“What did they tell you about this deal?”

“That I’m to listen to whatever you want, no objection.” Their capture answered.

“Great, that’s fantastic. I won’t ask for much.”

The man scoffs, thinking that it must be a lie.

Piero _might_ be lying.

“You work shifts in Coldridge prison, yes?” The man nods. “Great. I want you to look for a man inside, most likely to have been imprisoned a few months ago.”

“There’s a lot of men inside,” the watchguard said, tone testing, wanting to experiment with his current boundaries. Piero doesn’t say much about it, he did notice, but he did not care. He had been at the receiving end of many screaming matches, ones that he indulged himself in and ones he simply tuned out of his mind for better or for worse.

Some things were just not worth his attention.

But he needed this man’s cooperation.

“You see, I recently acquired guardianship of a girl, and her father is in prison. I only need to confirm if he is alive or not.”

“That’s it?” The man asked, sounding incredulous, if a bit agitated. “That’s all you want?”

“Well, if you did find him, maybe send a letter to him or supplies or such. I heard the living conditions are dreadful there.”

Then the guard quite possibly breaks.

He starts laughing, softly at first, before the voice starts to rise in increments of breaths until it reached high above his head and reverberating between the walls.

“You’re telling me, I’ve been stuck here for _void knows how long_ because you want to- what? Find someone? That’s _it?!_ ”

“Yes.”

The man fell silent.

“You must be real important if Slackjaw’s willing to do all that for you.”

“Not really, I worked a toothache for him once, mended some of his people’s bones, patched up gunshots, but nothing that important.”

“You’re insane.”

“I was previously informed, yes.”

“F-Fine, I’ll do it."


	18. Chapter 18

There was a loud banging on the door one early morning.

Piero had been fortunate enough to have _not_ fallen asleep that day and grumbled darkly under his breath as he pulled away from his new prototype. He needed these ready for Havelock since they were on a time crunch, and the fact that he wasn’t on-site didn’t help much in that regard. But the admiral was kind enough to understand his situation and allowed him to stay at Waterfront as long as the weapons were made on time.

With the great difficulty of wearing a heavy-set protective glove, the door was opened.

Piero blinked outwardly, but internally screamed.

This apartment building lacked tenets, but it suited him well for a long time. After all, no one bothered him while he worked on the last floors when the rest lived downstairs.

There was one problem with one other tenant, however, and it was Mrs. Yahontov.

“Keep your racket down!”

“I haven’t produced any higher levels of sounds than usual, Mrs. Yahontov,” he said slowly, knowing full well that she will ignore what he just said and enter into a spiel about how much she disliked him and his kind.

Which she ultimately did.

Piero took a deep breath, a risk that he easily took since Mrs. Yahontov barely focused on anything but her own screeching.

“I’ll make sure to not make any more sounds,” he concedes. The old woman huffs indignantly, unappeased by the fact that she couldn’t get under his skin once more, not visibly at least.

“Papa, can Lela and I go to the bakery today?” Delano asked as he came out of his old bedroom, and furrowed his brows at the sight of Yahontov at the door.

The croon made a disgusted noise in the back of her nose as she stared at him.

“Unbelievable, you truly are a Serkonan whore.”

“Yahontov,” Piero said, his voice dropping in that dreadful way he knew people found unnerving, letting his voice pause for a second too long before continuing. “Your daughter birthed three fatherless children, that _I helped deliver_.”

Yahontov, of course, shrieked at him for daring to say such slander. He ran a hand through his face.

Racist elitist wankers. He didn’t even make that up, he did help her daughter deliver all her grandchildren, and not once did he see a man waiting on the news on the child’s life. Either she went and whored herself out on the streets, or she had a torrid romance that went out like a flame in a fire pit overnight _three times_ in the last decade alone.

“What’s with all the loud noises?” Came the young childish mumble, and Lela also left the room, rubbing her eyes and staring blearily at the door as she stood next to Delano in pause.

“Urgh, another one, how can you even spawn,” Yahontov said in a revolted voice.

“Well, when two people fall in love at first sight, they tend to harry themselves in carnal pleasure. You should know better, don’t you?” Piero said, giving up completely on civility.

“I am not getting a lecture from a whore!”

“Papa is a natural philosopher, not a whore,” Delano growled, now realizing what was happening. This is not where he thought his morning is going. “Whores are the ones who entertain guests.”

“Well, he rather is a pitiful amusement, isn’t he? The crackpot natural philosopher?”

“Goodbye, Yahontov. May I see you _never_ ,” he announces as he slaps the door on her face. It did not bode well, for she continues to scream behind the walls and calling him more names the longer he ignored her – as best as he could with her mouth attached at their door lock.

After a while, he huffs in disdain before going to the kitchen. Now that the two are awake, all because of the hag, he needed to start breakfast.

Once the food is set up and they started eating, Lela fidgets in her place before looking up at him in confusion.

“Why was she so mean?”

“Hmm?”

“That woman, she sounded very mean.”

“Well, I apparently make a lot of noise while working.”

“But you don’t, or we wouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

“It doesn’t matter to people like Yahontov. If there’s a reason to bother people like us, they’ll take it, because they are pathetic and think of themselves in a highly manner, despite the fact that we are all living in the same situation.” He explained, mentally adding another tally to the theory of Lela never having lived outside of her family home.

“… People like us?”

“Err,” Piero blinked and stared at the girl before nodding. She still looks at him in confusion, waiting for an explanation, and he was starting to think that maybe Lela was a lot more sheltered than he thought.

“People who aren’t from Gristol, Lela, keep up.” Delano grouched as he ate another spoonful and blanched, sticking his hand into his mouth to pull out whatever it is he disliked. Piero made a displeased noise as he grabs his hand.

“Honestly, Delano, do not do that when we are outside.”

“But I can do it inside,” the boy complained as he pulled a thin fishbone. “You didn’t gut the fish right,” he accused.

“Here, let me pull the bones out before you eat, you little spoiled brat,” he mumbled as he pulls the child’s dish. Delano’s pout turned into a delighted grin.

The manipulative little-

One day, he will meet Delilah once more and scream bloody murder at her for teaching his son such an annoying behavior! And if it was Brianna who had been responsible, he’d crush whatever experiment she worked in, witches with magic be damned!

“Aren’t we all from the same empire? Why would it matter if someone is from Gristol or otherwise?” Lela asked innocently, still thinking about the topic.

Piero groans.

“Well, people tend to like feeling superior, so the fact that the heart of the empire is in Gristol makes people from Gristol feel superior, especially those of Dunwal. The case is, Lela, people will look at the three of us and will always think of us as either whores or scoundrels, if we’re lucky, they’d think of me as a greedy merchant.”

Lela’s eyes were even more confused.

“But can’t we say anything against that? They can’t just do that …”

“And what exactly can we do?” Delano huffed, draping himself over the table, lanky arms stretched in front of him. “People are always cruel, everyone is cruel, and ruth- ruth- ruthless. A courier accused me of stealing some of his posts when I wasn’t even near him, and his excuse was that I'm a ginger.”

Piero winced.

“Oh, Delano, why have you not told me,” he mumbled, but Delano only shrugged.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“This is- this is a very daunting conversation, but know this, Lela, people will judge you by your looks alone. Do not let them hamper you. The best way to win is to go against their expectation and thrive on your own merits. If a man calls you whore, umm …” Think, Piero, what would Sally say? “Stab him- No! Not that, do not stab people randomly!”

“It’s more fun to crush them,” Delano pipes in, making Lela giggle, and Piero groans, pushing the deboned dish back to his son.

“Violence is an answer, but it is not a good one,” he decides to say. “Find an alternative.”

“Papa, you make weapons for a living.”

“And how am I to feed you two then?” He grumbled but smiled as Lela slowly pushed her own dish to him, giving a silent plea to get rid of the bones in her fish, which he immediately succumbed to.

“Camila hunts.”

“Camila is a wonderful cook who lives in a place with plenty of bounties. All we have are rats.”

Right in time, a terrified squeak was heard in Delano’s pockets.

** 0o0o0 **

“Nothing?” He asked as he tugged at his cap, staring at the watchguard with a grimace. The man shrugs, having had two weeks to work, it shouldn’t have been hard to find a Serkonan in Coldridge prison. They would have made up a group together or would have been tormented by the guards more so than other inmates.

“I even looked for half Serkonans, or people who’re related to ones, but none. The only people you can find who are most definitely Serkonan is the royal protector himself, and-”

“You’re right, he’s not the one I’m looking for.”

“Shame. I found out that Captain Curnow’s grandfather is Serkonan, can you believe that? How did he get Captains then? Wonder who he-”

“Are you implying that he _slept_ with someone,” Piero asked frigidly. Captain Curnow could have, Piero has no idea of the man’s personality, but _anyone_ could have, so it was a moot point. The man shuts up, looking at Piero for a moment before realizing his mistake and shaking his head.

“No, not at all, just wondering. Higher-ups don’t like it when someone shows them up, you know?”

“That is unfortunately true-”

Someone knocks on the chair behind him, and it was another watchguard.

He sighs, feeling aggrieved, and regretting giving the watchguard the choice of the meeting place. Of course, the man would pick somewhere that felt safe to him.

The fact that it was a pub near the golden cat made him feel irritated.

It was, apparently, a very famous establishment. The guards and the workers use this place to meet up discreetly. Seeing as there was joviality in the air, it was a more active night than usual. It made for a somewhat good cover, no sane criminal would find themselves here, and most of the men were too drunk to remember his face.

“Richard, bruv, what’re ya doing,” a guard asked, dumping himself next to the officer who gave him a tight smile. The other guard glances at him before huffing loudly and tugging at Richard the watchguard. “Ya can’t be having a night with this seaweed.”

“Excuse me,” Piero felt insulted. “I am _not_ a seaweed.”

“Fine, a fucking river weed.”

“I am not-”

“Richard, you’ve been ignoring me for ages, come on, let's have a night together.”

“I have some _business_ before I can get back to you,” the watchguard said forcefully, pushing his drunk friend off of him.

“No, what does he have that I don’t, Rih- chard-”

“Nothing! It’s a legitimate business,” Richard squeaked, and Piero scoffed because none of this was legitimate. “I’ll come back to you in a mo, just _wait._ ”

The drunk grumbles, and loudly complains as he stumbles off of him and walks away to the bar. Richard doesn’t look at him, staring numbly at the table in front of them.

“I don’t give a fig about what that was about, I’ve been accused of worse. Have you at least checked off the deceased lodgers, any person that was accused by a noble?”

“Ten of them were sent, three of them were sent in by an anonymous tip, but we all know where that’s coming from,” the man whispered, face still tinted in red, but he looked grateful for the change of conversation. “Two of them were too skinny to fight from what I gathered, and the strong one was too young to have had a ten-year-old girl.”

“It seems that … I have unfortunate news to share with my ward, but it will close a chapter in her life. Thank you for the help, did Slackjaw promise you something as a reward-”

They were interrupted once more. This time, however, was made by both the officer and a girl from the golden cat draping her hands around his shoulders.

“Why, Mr. Joplin, I see you have _another_ job nearby. Are we going to celebrate?”

“Morris, what the bloody void,” Richard grumbled as the other officer grabbed his arm to pull him off.

“There, he can have his business and we can go about ours.”

“It isn’t what you think?!” Richard yelled, and Bethany giggles near his ears as she slumps over him.

“Don’t worry about him, officers. Mr. Joplin here doesn’t like to _do_ anything; he just likes to watch!” Piero felt his ears heat up from embarrassment. Why would Bethany say something like this all of a sudden? In front of all of these strangers?!

“I do _not,_ ” he yells at her.

“He does so, too faithful to his woman to do anything, too bothered down there not to look,” she said, winking as her arms snake their way down to his pants, which he instantly grabbed and pushed away.

“Bethany, I do not appreciate your implication.”

“Serves you right not to sleep with me when I asked. What’s wrong with how I look? Am I so bad that even _you_ won’t touch me?”

“I do not like you!”

“What’s the matter with you lot,” another officer joined in.

“We have a lover’s quarrel between a prostitute and a river weed,” Morris said with glee, and Piero sent him a scathing look before standing up and pushing Bethany gently enough to have her stand on her own legs.

“And who’s dumb enough to sleep with you!”

“None of your business!”

“You have a _boy_ , you haven’t told any of us.”

“Why would you need to know that?!”

“We’re _close,_ ” she complained and Piero sighs.

“You’re drunk to the gills, please go back and have a night’s rest.” He then turns around to look at Richard, nodding at him before stepping out.

Just as he stumbled outside, Bethany followed, giggling.

“Thanks for playing along, Mr. Joplin.”

“How much is that Morris Officer paying you for that scene?” He grumbles under his breath. Bethany lays an arm over his shoulder, but he shrugs it off. “How much was it worth to say all of that about me!”

“Nothing’s too cheap for words, Mr. Joplin, you know that well enough,” she said, rolling her eyes as she leans on a wall and crossed her arms. “Say, do you have a cigar?”

“No.”

“Don’t be so prude, all the girls know you like to look,” she said. It made Piero balk for a moment before glaring at her. “What? You don’t agree to sleep with anyone.”

“That does not mean-”

“But your dick works it out when you look at people doing it at the golden cat,” she said smugly.

“I do not- I am not- _Why are you looking at my dick?!_ ”

“We like watching over you, you’re a lot nicer than other people tend to act with us, so we have to make sure you’re happy, I suppose. Don’t be ashamed so much, I guess it’s easier to please a voyeur than that art’s dealer with the electricity kink.”

“Please stop, _please_ ,” he begged as he covered his face. The night may have been cold, but he’s too warm to feel it, his clothes were too stuffy.

“Oh, Mr. Piero, don’t be feeling like that. Here, how about this, I’ll show you a good deal to make it up to you?”

“A … what? Bethany! I just said-”

“Not me! How about you get it back against that git officer, embarrass him while he’s having a go with the other handsome guy you’ve been chatting up.”

He sighs.

“Alright, alright, the other guy with who you seemed to have a _business_ arrangement with.”

“It does sound … fun. What do you have in mind?”

Bethany grins wickedly.

“I’ll have you know that I’m an expert when it comes to … exposing people, you see. I can get your business partner out while leaving the git behind to face the consequences.”

“And how will you be doing that?”

“Easy, get the overseers involved. Just tell them I heard two men getting it on in that one room, you know, the private smoking room? Get another girl to pull Mr. Handsome, and let the Overseer arrest him.”

“That sounds …” Very appealing, if Piero had to say so, but ultimately wrong. He does not like the Overseers as much as the next person, and would not condemn anyone to them. “Thank you for the offer, Bethany, but no.”

She sighs, but shrugged either way.

“Sorry to mess up your night, Mr. Joplin. Tell Slackjaw that his shipments are starting to wane down.”

“Must be angry at the new matron then,” they both made a face before chuckling.

** 0o0o0 **

Sacrifices have been made, and one with lasting consequences had been the ownership of his bed. Sleeping on the couch had been fine in the first few months, but it has started to take a toll on his back, and he is now starting to think to resort to thievery in order to attain a new one.

Not that it would help much, he would still need help moving the stolen goods, and he does not have access to labor anymore. Moving the bed himself will certainly render the whole operation null if he were to throw his back once he picks the thing up.

So, it was with irritation that he found himself awake one night, torn from a dream filled with trekking, to find his son staring at him with wide and teary eyes.

“Papa, can I sleep with you?”

And what was he to say?

He had done the same thing as a child, not often, but enough to remember the comfort of such actions.

He sighs, but moved just enough to create space between himself and the backrest of the couch for the boy to climb in and burrow himself into a nook to sleep in.

There wasn’t enough space, and it would have made more sense to sleep on the floor, but touching the wooden boards nowadays is usually accompanied by a chill that is only taken away by fire and enough blankets to fill a storage room.

He stayed awake to see that Delano has given up his consciousness, and to see the steady rise and drop of his chest as heated breaths start to come in rhythms.

Piero closed his eyes, waiting for his mind to give itself to another world. Just as the edges of his vision start to darken and the empty dread of the cold benevolent presence starts to arrive, he felt another tug that has woken him up.

Piero snapped his eyes open, and found Lela fidgeting in front of him.

“Lela,” he said, not ready for whatever new mischief that has started tonight.

She blushed as she mumbled something incoherent, or was it his mind that decided to muddle her words?

Before he knew it, she sat on the couch, where his leg was raised above the hand rest and there was enough space below for anyone small enough to hide there.

He sighs in aggrievance.

“Right, back to the bed,” he announced. Getting up and picking a still unconscious Delano. He gently pushed Lela back to the bedroom and settled the two of them in bed, dragging his own blanket to cover them.

They were all lucky that the bed, though small, could hold two intimate people, and that Piero himself can feel the bones of his ribs nowadays, which meant that there was enough space for an adult and two children.

Delano grumbled, and Lela didn’t dare to make much sound, but he made sure that they were both warm before laying down on the edge of the bed, waiting for the girl to fall asleep as well.

“Uncle Piero …” Lela said, her voice tiny even in the quiet room. He moved his head to look at her, waiting to hear what she had in mind. “Mama used to sing me songs when I couldn’t sleep …”

“Ah … well … I apologize, I do not know many …” and he had difficulty breathing, none the less speaking normally. Any attempt of singing will end up with coughs.

Lela’s figure seemed to slump deeper into the bed, disappointment filling her expression.

He didn’t know many songs, the one he did was the drunken whaler, heard constantly from the lips of the drunk as Piero worked under Artemis’s lamp. It was a song about murder, and he was plenty sure that it will not help Lela sleep.

When he cranks his memories to a time when his mother was alive, leaning down and singing songs to his ears, he smiled.

Then grimaced as he realized all the songs of his childhood also involved murder.

“ _After sparrows, three times call,"_ he begins.

Lela perks up a bit, listening as he butchered the tone of the song entirely, knowing full well that it shouldn’t sound as haunting as it did. It still seemed to entice Lela’s attention.

_"... will sing through all the night, many an hour before morning sun, don't dream of horror yet to come.”_

So, he bears the burden and trudges at it, knowing that he will repeat the song over and over again until Lela fell asleep. Like a spell, it caught her attention entirely until she couldn’t focus anymore, and slowly let closed her eyes.

Once he was sure that she is asleep, he stayed in bed, realizing that it was now he who has trouble going back to the dreamlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Having the race talk with children is always difficult, but it must be done. Children should understand why others hate them for no reason, and why they shouldn’t let that discourage them.
>   2. So many misunderstandings happening in one chapter. Lela’s father, Morris’s jealousy, Piero’s own sexual identity- So, yeah, not one single thing is right in this chapter. 
>   3. Regarding sex, I figured it out! I mean, why Piero’s a voyeur. I now have a headcanon, which I’ll let everyone stew on. But it now makes so much sense in my head, and I can’t wait to write it later. Everyone will probably have an “a-ha” moment.
>   4. Still not excusing it.
>   5. Bethany is an OC, and she’s the same girl involved in the incident that Captain Curnow and Campbell met up for. Don’t worry, she didn’t die, but it did leave a lot of girls injured.
>   6. “Can I sleep with you?” Is the scariest thing to hear the moment you wake up in the dark.
> 



	19. Chapter 19

There were guards on the streets.

Something was amiss, even more so than usual. He does not exactly know when it started, but he does notice the uptick of activity.

He had some trouble commuting between the flat and everywhere else. From what he overheard on the streets, he figured that the crown has finally decided to take the matter of searching for the lost child heir seriously.

Piero had been confused as to why now? Why not before? Did the lord regent want to cement his rule before actually looking for Emily Kaldwin? Bring everyone under his thumb through bribery and blackmail, then find the heir and have her as a puppet?

What else could it be, if not that? Some of the less politically inclined would not bother thinking so, but any person with a margin of intelligence will notice how strange the sequence of affairs had been.

“How is he, Master Joplin?”

“He is fine, do not worry. It is not the plague,” he said as he left the room, rubbing his hands in his handkerchief. He might need a new one. “Unfortunately, others will not recognize the common cold anymore, what with fear running amok, so I advise you not to let your husband out any time soon until it is completely gone. Use the usual remedy, it is not serious to warrant as specific medicine.”

“Oh, thank you, Master Joplin. Once I started hearing him cough, I thought of the worse …” The woman seemed to be ready to cry, a sheen coating her eyes. He waved it away. Not many would call for a doctor once they discover a cough nowadays, in fear that they will be condemned and taken away.

It was even rarer so to find someone so devoted to their loved ones. It was a rare feat, even without a plague riddling the streets.

Once coins had been exchanged, he took a long scenic route back home, frowning at the ground as he reminded himself of the new curfew. It did not permit any sense of urgency to himself, no true Dunwall citizen would heed a curfew, not unless under the threat of a bullet. What were the guards to do? Especially in Waterfront, which was far too close to Draper's ward? Demand for their law to be followed?

Then, to his slight surprise, he spots a bone washed down the beach.

It was clean, far too clean to have been taken recently, with no blood or residue to cling onto it. It could have been the tides of the river cleaning it, blessing the bone itself, but it could have been that someone saw it and decided to treasure it.

He walks down the shore and reached for it, stashing it in his bag.

** 0o0o0 **

“What are you doing?” Lela asked, curiosity peeking more than it did before. Questions after questions came out, demanding to learn of truths and assumptions and to prove such things. Piero turns around to her, frowning at the fact that she had sneaked up on him once more.

How can a person be silent in an old flat with creaking floors?

Not even Delano, with how light he is, could accomplish that.

“I am making a bonecharm.”

Lela’s eyes boggled in their place, staring at him as if he grew a second head.

“But- but that is against the Abbey’s words,” she told him, afraid. Was she concerned for him, or her religion?

Piero rolls his eyes at the thought.

“Lela, come here for a moment. Let me tell you something,” he requested, and she followed his words, sitting on his rarely used chair as he preferred working on his feet. Only when he wrote did he sit down, and even then, he liked to record himself speaking more than anything else. “The abbey’s reach all those who stay on land, but those who live onshore and by the sea do not heed their warnings.”

“… Why?”

“Why else? Seeing is believing, Lela. The abbey’s stricture may seem … cozy, safe to hide behind, but does it truly protect a person from the hands of the outsider?”

“Doesn’t it?”

“They say that the wandering gaze will have you lose sight of what is pure, that corrupted, it will wrap like a broken mirror to trade ugliness with beauty. However, are pure things not beautiful?” He asked her, and she did not answer. This is too heavy a question for a child to ponder on, none the less bring forth a satisfying answer.

He chuckled, ruffling her hair, which was getting longer now. The strands touched her shoulders, the tips curled ever so slightly. If one did not see her Serkonan heritage before, with her deep dark eyes, one can see it as a whole when her hair touches her back.

She came to them with short hair, maybe she would like it to be cut short once again.

“Does a lying child deserve the wrath of an Overseer upon them?”

“No?”

“Does a child’s lie echo back to you like the voice of the outsider?”

There was an obvious frown on her face now, her lips turning downwards. He pats her back, taking mercy on her, and decided to stop. He just spoke to her like how he spoke to some of his students back when he was a professor’s assistant. Some tended to let their religious view obscure and hinder their study, and even then, men who were twice Lela’s age had difficulty comprehending such things.

“There may be some truths, Lela. I am not saying otherwise. Yet, people blindly follow without questioning such things. Delano is most certainly guilty of having roving feet, but if he did not, would he have ever found you?”

Lela blinked, then slowly shook her head.

“But I do agree, do not needlessly sneak into places where you shouldn’t, _especially_ my lab when I have an ongoing experiment.” He reprimands her, and she ducked her head before escaping the chair. “Heed thy warnings, civilian, or have the wrath of slightly diluted soup for dinner!”

“No! I’m sorry!” She cried, giggling as she runs out of the room.

He couldn’t help but feel a smile tug at his face and rubbed the back of his neck.

He did not agree with most of what the abbey said, not when he grew up with … such twisted dreams and a gaze vastly different than others. He knew some truths in the world that are not meant to be known. Knew of things that should not be possible, should not be brought into reality. Most of the abbey’s words were nothing but the speech of a marketplace vendor trying to sell you merchandise that rivaled those of real treasures.

Filled with lies and beautiful words to entice and trick.

But he did agree to some of them.

Mostly, he did agree to restrict the wanton flesh.

He wouldn’t have been born if his mother and the bastard of a father listened to such rules, but he tends to think that not living at all is more beneficial than experiencing everything that he did throughout his life.

Most of the children on the streets would be of the same mindset, most of the people there would not have existed either way.

_“And what of the fruit of such unions? Only sorrow is born, only misery is multiplied; within these things, the Outsider dwells.”_

The outsider truly does dwell.

** 0o0o0 **

“How does this even-” Havelock said as he unsheathes the sword. Piero groggily stares at him across the table. He had worked tirelessly to get that sword into perfection, and with the lack of a drill, his hands wept as blisters started to reside on it.

Once the sword is sheathed, it looked much like a broken handle, easily hidden under one’s clothes.

“This is fascinating, where did you even find the design?”

“ _Find a design,_ ” Piero grumbled. “In my head, Admiral.”

“Yes, yes, apologies. I did not intend to insult your intelligence.”

“Well,” Piero fell silent as he thought of what to say next. Havelock may be willfully ignorant, but he knew when to apologize and say the right words if needed. He could hardly ever find faults in his attitude, especially not when he pays him. “The bomb can be rigged easily, it’s the sticking paste that I am having some hard time with.”

“That should not be difficult with your caliber.”

“No, but you have a high specification, and materials are scarce.”

“Ask Samuel for whatever it is you’re missing, it won’t take him long to find something. Or if it is of the expensive variety …”

“I mostly need space to test it out, space that I do not currently have.”

The Admiral stares at him, really stare, searching for something that Piero could not easily comprehend. “The offer still stands, Master Piero,” He reminds him.

But Piero couldn’t simply accept. He would have. If he could, he would. A place secluded from anything else that would have allowed him to research the cure leisurely as long as he built what his employer needed sounds like a dream. It sounded _familiar._

It might not be Sally’s base, but it was achingly familiar in its promise of safety and allowance.

But he has the children to think about now.

Delano hates the constant moves. He liked having one central safe place, and in his mind, it was still the manor, where he constantly goes to visit Delilah every night if he could.

And Lela … poor Lela, still so afraid of people in general. She puts on a brave face, but everything was new and most of the people she met only hurt her. Having her move to a place with new faces encroaching on her space will not be ideal.

“Come now, you know it would be safer for everyone involved, especially your children. What if people found out that you were working for us?”

What if indeed.

The Admiral was not Sally, he did not hold the iron fist of terror she was well known for. He might have connections, but connections can go so far before failing them.

Honestly, the safest place he knew of was Delilah’s place, but with her insisting on keeping the rift open, he wasn’t inclined to send the children there.

Which is a big shame, he knew Lela would have loved the woman.

“One would think that you do not trust us,” the admiral said nonsensically, but Piero waved his suspicion away.

“I believe in your goals,” he said.

It was daunting if anyone else heard them and knew what the goals are.

If it weren’t for the fact that he knew that the royal protector hasn’t committed the crime of killing their empress, he would not have agreed to any of this. Yet, he remembers the day the empress died, remembered Delano’s face as he spoke of green-clad assassins running across rooftops towards the palace.

“That’s as much as I can ask, I suppose. Well, I’ll be back next week. Same time?”

“Maybe make it two, I do not think the progression of the paste will-”

“Papa!” Someone yelled at the door of the pub, most of the patron lifted their heads up in confusion. It had simply been too late for any child to be awake at all, none the less out on the streets. Some decided to ignore this while others sent suspicious glares at the other patrons, finding this act despicable.

But Piero stood up instantly, looking at Delano and a trembling Lela in between his arms. The boy’s hair was mussed up, as if he ran all the way down to the pub, and Lela had Piero’s jacket wrapped around herself and clutched tightly onto it.

“What one earth- Why are you two out of the flat?” He crossed the threshold, and had his hands all over Lela’s face, checking for any injury before moving to Delano.

“Papa, there were Overseers, and they tried to- they tried to take me and Lela pushed one of them away and then they thrashed our home and- and-”

Piero felt fear grip him.

“Why did they want to take you?”

Why would an Overseer take a child? What a silly question to ask. They either chose him as a new initiate or decided that this was a fitting punishment against the child’s sacrilegious parents. The child would never be seen again in either case.

Did Piero do something? Grab someone’s attention by mistake? He never did-

He never did heed other’s warnings, it never mattered before. All the results would come back to him, not anyone else.

But he has children now.

There was a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch. The hand moved away, far larger than his own, but not as terrifying as it should be.

It was the Admiral, and he was looking at them with concern.

“They called you a witch,” Lela whispered, catching his attention once more.

He felt his brows raise to his hairline.

“Unless someone accused me with evidence, there wouldn’t be _any_ investigation,” after all, Overseers had so little capacity in their head of what consists of scientific experiments, that they could not accuse them of anything easily without making a fool of themselves.

He was about to say more, but the doors to the pub had slammed open.

A glint of gold shined in his eyes, stopping him from any more words. It must have caught the attention of the rest of the pub, as they slowly fell silent at the sight of an Overseer- three overseers, two were standing outside.

Piero couldn’t help but push the two children behind him.

This is not the first time he faced an Overseer.

But he had Sally back then, he did not have her by his side anymore.

Still, with all the trembling he could hide in his limbs, he held the two behind him, kept himself a barrier.

“Is there a problem, Overseers?” He asked with a calm and cool tone.

“Yes, I suppose you are the man who lives in-”

“Oh, be done with it, we know it is him. The boy looks exactly like him. We will interrogate him back in Holgers.”

“Interrogate me for what?”

“For Witchcraft.”

Piero stood up, back straight, chin raised, and with an unflinching gaze. He knew it unnerved people, and it was not wise to upset an overseer, but it did enough to disarm whatever protection they had in mind to steel themselves.

“Let me guess, one of my kindly neighbors blamed me for witchcraft, most likely an old woman who tended to call me an annoying scamp. Said I made too much noise at night, that I _must_ be doing something. Of course, simple minds would think the marvels of Natural Philosophy as witchcraft, for they have not seen the advancements of science could bring forth. It is the same as when the arc lights have been raised on the streets. It _must_ have been made by the hands of the outsider.”

He could tell that he irritated them, but they could not refute him.

“Be that as it may, we already know that the boy is a witch,” the overseer at the back said, the others made space for him to walk through. “And who else would teach him to disappear from one spot to appear in another?”

Piero’s eyes moved to Delano, who slumped his shoulders and tried to himself behind him.

Oh, Delano …

He must have used his abilities to run away.

“Are you taking a fucking piss?” Someone suddenly interrupts, taking all of their attention away.

It was a regular customer, someone Piero had seen multiple times in the pub, but never truly spoken to.

“I knew you lot were out of your mind, but accusing _kids!_ ”

“Yeah,” someone else chimes in. “And then saying the seaweed had taught him, you overseers are a bunch of nutters.”

Piero couldn’t help but feel offended for being called a seaweed, but much to his confusion, noise of agreement started to pick up, the rest of the patrons sounding displeased.

A gunshot suddenly rang.

And chaos erupts.

He can feel the Admiral’s now familiar palms wrap itself around him, pushing him away.

At some point, he felt himself tripping just in time to hear glass smashing.

Both Delano and Lela had screamed, their tiny voices were much louder than anything Piero could have heard, and he opened his eyes in time to see one of the Overseers grab onto Delano’s arm, yanking him away.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t even think.

He couldn’t control himself, as he pulled himself off the floor, and grabbed the closest thing he could feel underneath his hand.

The next thing he knew, he strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry.  
>  Don’t worry, things will pick up after this. Up until now, I’ve been doing slice of life stuff, as slicey lifey as one can get living during the plague and having weird connections all around while a spirit of sorts watches and sometimes grants magic.  
>  There’s a lot of changes that happened because of previous events, and it’s subtle at first, but it does build up over time to change the story. I hope I don’t mess it up, cause I like the changes, a lot.  
>  Some changes will be inspired by other fics, which I’ll link in the notes, don’t worry.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Lineart. To show a visual representation of how I see the characters.
> 
>   1. Delano is the shorter one, he's younger by two years as well. I've said before that he looks more like Delilah than Piero, and he has Piero's colors instead (but I suck at coloring, and turns out I suck at drawing on an iPad too. I need practice.) Delano's favorite clothes are overalls though, because they have pockets for Winston the rat.
>   2. Emily came to the Joplin house by complete surprise, so most of her clothes are usually a mish-mash of the other two's clothes. It's always baggy on her. She started wearing Piero's belt as well. Delano's own clothes are baggy on him so they fit her at times, but the jacket is Piero's that the two decided to cut and shorten, since Piero hardly remembers his mortal possessions.
>   3. Their hair is similar, actually. A complete coincidence. They both have straight hair that curls at the tips. Emily didn't cut her hair for a while, or else it would have ended by her ears and not her neck. Delano likes his mom's hairstyle, but can't get it right most of the time because of the curls.
> 



	20. Chapter 20

As far as Piero knew, the sword works perfectly fine.

It outperformed his highest expectations.

He did not, however, intended for it to be used by his own hands. He did not mean to unsheathe it from its hold, watch as it unfolds into its full length to have it slice another’s throat.

But it did, he did.

He watched numbly as the Overseer let go of Delano’s writs, his arms encircling his own neck, trying to keep the blood flow at bay. Piero watched listlessly as the overseer took a step backward, choking on his blood, before dropping on the floor, desperate to grasp any air as he fought his demise.

Then, he stills.

It might have taken ages, in his own mind’s eyes, but it was nothing but a few scant moments in reality.

“You- You-” Piero turns around with a haze to stare at the other outsider, and the man flinches, taking a step back before regaining his confidence, and with it, his fury. “I'll perform the rites over your corpse, blasphemer!”

He could see the glint of a blade ready to strike down at him, but another gunshot stops its descent.

Piero blinked and watched in morbid fascination as the body slumps forward instead, dropping on him.

There is now a hole in the back of the overseer’s head, and the blood seeped further down onto him.

“Master Joplin, are you alright?” The admiral said as the last of the fight could be heard, where someone had been trying to stave away stomping feet upon themselves. Piero simply stared at the corpse he was holding and lightly pushed it away from himself, noting how the third overseer is now gone.

“I … I suppose … I- I-” He turns around, looking down at Delano.

Suddenly, he felt his knees go weak, and he drops completely, reaching out for the boy’s face, searching him for any injury.

“I’m fine,” the little boy mumbled, but he did not push him away, and leaned into his touch. Piero couldn’t help but inhale sharply as he turned around, and his eyes landed on Lela, who flinched at his gaze.

He reached out to her, checked her face, her hands, and saw no further injury.

It was then that he broke, and pulled them closer to himself, not willing to _ever_ let them out of his sight ever again after wrapping his arms around them.

He exhales.

“We are moving.”

There was no argument, not after what just happened.

He lifts his eyes and locks them with the admirals.

“If you do not mind, that is.”

“I have been trying to get you to come over for how long now?”

Piero chuckled, surprised by the wet voice coming out of him, and the tears that were falling. He looks around, and see the bodies on the ground, some of the pub’s patrons had a bullet wound, and he hesitantly approaches them to inspect the injury.

After a while, however, he heard Artemis sigh.

“Get up, Joplin. You need to get away before the rest of the flock notice something.”

“But- what of the pub? How will you explain this away?”

“Explain what away?” Artemis asked, and someone started to pull one of the corpses off the floor, heaving them over their shoulder. “There isn’t anything here.”

Piero’s mind stuttered shut.

“But- but- how do you explain away the _blood?!_ ”

“Easy,” one of the patrons said. “Someone hauled up their fish here instead of doing the right thing and taking it to their stall.”

“At _night!?_ ”

“Well, they thought selling it to the pub sounded better,” Artemis nods.

“And the ruckus? The gunshots!”

“Too many whiskey and cigars,” a woman shoots, wiggling her brow at him. “Get out of here Joplin, get your tykes to safety. We’ll cover for you.”

Piero couldn’t help but stare languidly at every person in the pub before nodding in thanks. He turns around at the admiral, who seemed to have been holding his breath for his answer.

“We- We need to take all the prototypes from our flat. I’ll- take my children to safety, I’ll follow. Tell Samuel I’ll be where I usually meet him.” He said as they walked out of the bar, still holding onto the kids tightly.

“Good, good,” the admiral replied. “Are you sure you don’t want someone with you to move your things?”

“No, I will- Delano, Lela, is there anything you want me to bring?”

The two children were silent, still staring at him with wide and terrified eyes.

It seems that he needed to act as the adult here and decide for them.

“Just- Just take them to wherever your base is. If you insist, wait with Samuel later.”

** 0o0o0 **

It might have seemed that he was eager in getting rid of the children, but there was a reason for that.

Yahontov had snitched on him to the overseers, intentionally sending harm to his son and whatever Lela is to him by this point.

He seethed as he got closer to the apartment building, wanting to take revenge on such an offense, and none of the solutions in his mind were friendly.

He had been scorned for one last time, and he will not abide by it.

He packs.

The books and whatever little research he managed to build since he lost the raft are packed into one side of the suitcase, and as many clothes as he could spare before forcing in the children’s clothes. He ultimately decided that he needed to carry another bag to put the clothes in, and when he searched through the bedroom, he noted some items that were most likely for the children’s entertainment.

There was the automaton, put out for display but obviously wound up so many times that the top of the box is now scuffed from use.

There was also a brush that he knew was Lela’s because both Delano and himself had given up on affixing their own hair.

There was a mostly used wax pen that the children enjoyed using, instead of lighting it for the night as it was meant to be, they both claimed that it left nice traces on paper and it was easier to draw in such ways.

Lela’s wooden color set.

Delano’s blood statue.

The drawings hung on the walls.

The harpoon book hidden under the mattress.

The stale bread and the unfinished elixirs on the side table.

Piero stood in the middle of it all, staring at every little piece of evidence that this room had been _lived_ in. This place hasn't been used as a safe house, an area for studying without hindrance, it was a home, and Piero hasn’t noticed any of it build-up ...

Not until now.

He took the hairbrush, colored wax, the automaton, and nothing else.

“Why do you grieve something you have not participated in?” A voice asked in his ear, and Piero clutched onto the automaton before breathing harshly. “Or do you grieve the chance that you never enjoyed?”

“Does it matter?”

“I am interested in the reasoning behind such emotions? It is rather silly, to let it rule over you when you have such a rational mind,” the voice then moves away, lets him work at his own pace. Piero had a case filled with weapons he was ready to give to the admiral after his complete approval, but it seems that he might use it now to move them entirely.

“Why do you wonder about things that are nonsensical to you? If emotions are silly, why ponder on them?” Piero retorts, rechecking everything before his true plans start. “Unless … you want an explanation for reference? But what good would it be if you do not experience them …”

The voice is silent.

“You feel amusement, you feel boredom, but you cannot comprehend much else.”

“Tread carefully,” the voice warns, but Piero scoffs as he moves to the one corner he never dared to step directly to before, and looks at the shrine that had been built. A piece of the void has hung itself in this room for too long that it felt much like the empty planes of nothing and everything and exploding stars with dead whales-

“I grieve, my friend, for the same reason you watch everyone else,” he whispered as he grabs onto the rune that Delano had kept to himself for so long.

“I can hardly see any entertainment in inflicting sadness upon myself.”

“No, but you do wish to join in the events, do you not? Why else would you share a silver of your powers?” He asked him.

A wind blows, the lit candles are now dead, and Piero was left slightly reeling, forgetting what he was talking about recently.

He chucked it to stressed mumblings.

That’s when his eyes fell on a mask.

** 0o0o0 **

Samuel made a noise of disapproval the moment he saw him tumbling by the canal in the early dawn, the sun was shining across the waters, still hidden under the horizon line but slightly peeking in morning greetings.

Piero pushed by the suitcase and bag to the skiff, Samuel standing up at once to stabilize the boat before it could turn over with the weight.

“Apologies,” he muttered as he carefully stepped in, hugging the weapon case tightly.

“No worries from me, Master Joplin. You had a rough night. The kids are at the pub right now, and let me tell you, Ms. Lydia may be rough around the edges, but she’s a lot more maternal than she likes to admit. Didn’t let neither of them out of her sight when we landed.”

Piero breathed in, he nods to tell him that he heard everything.

“You said something about a drill, and we already had one before when we talked to another Natural Philosopher who … let’s just say, met the wrong end of a swarm. The admiral’s gone to start the whale oil line from Rudshore.”

“Rudshore?” He asked as the boat started moving.

“A lot of the refineries are abandoned, so no one’s there to check on the stores. It’s how we’ve been getting fuel for some time without much worry. It’s not as distilled, but it’s fine enough to use.”

Depending on which refinery they are taking it from, it wouldn’t matter if the oil was distilled or not, as part of the process entailed purification and mineral extraction to be used later.

“That is good. In fact, it is marvelous. I will not worry about power shortage …”

He had fallen silent, unable to say much.

He had done a terrible thing tonight, and he could not help but feel his insides ready to scramble out of him. Yahontov may have falsely accused them, but he had done worse.

He had broken into her flat and displaced Delano’s shrine in one of the most likely least used areas. Once he went back, he had written false journal entries detailing how he ‘suspected’ of Yahontov’s witchcraft, written how concerned he was of her existence.

Pretended and lied, written how she constantly complained about the noise he hasn’t made, about how the only reason she would care is for the nursery that no one seemed to be able to access … not unless they had magic.

And if she cared about the nursery, then … what if _she_ was a witch?

It was all lies.

He had inflicted onto someone what had been inflicted onto him when he was once a simple lecturer and researcher. The people accused him of false things, of how River Krusts ignored him and Hagfish playfully danced between his fingers. He _must_ be a witch, how else does one explain that.

As flimsy as his ‘suspicion’ is, it will be enough for the warfare overseers who would undoubtedly investigate the disappearance of their brothers. They will start with his flat, and they will see his thoughts, and think of her as the suspect.

They would search her home, and they will find the shrine.

He takes another breath.

Piero was just as terrible as everyone else on these damned isles.

Once they have gotten to shore, there was a heavy silence hanging above the pub. Even Samuel, a man known for his calm reserved self, seemed to frown at the atmosphere.

“I’ll be moving the case, don’t worry about that, just go inside and get some food,” Samuel tried to shoo him off, but Piero couldn’t in good conscious let the old man do the heavy lifting. He stood and pulled the suitcase himself but left everything else.

The admiral had been standing out at the front of the pub, alongside two other people. They all seemed to carry concerned looks on their faces. Samuel had quirked a brow, tilting his head at them, a gesture for him to talk to them.

“Admiral,” he greets, before looking at the other two. “And Overseer Martin, if I remember correctly,” he concludes, noticing the warfare coat of the overseers that they had been wearing for some time now, only used at war, but a war against who? The citizens?

“Pleasure to have met you again, Master Joplin.”

He turns at the last person, who was clearly a noble with how fine his outfit was and how confident his pose is. He was obviously sickly, his skin too pale and figure too thin even for a starved person. There are some bruises that were expertly hidden with makeup that Piero could vaguely pick up. Something he learned that girls liked to do to hide away their shame of being abused or used by their lovers.

But what’s most jarring was the man’s sharp grey eyes, shrewd and ultimately ready for a battle, most likely a banter of words than a clashing of swords. The man’s eyes had not moved away from him.

“Tell me, Master Joplin, of where you found your niece,” he demands, without ever introducing himself.

Piero frowns.

“Delano found her in the Golden Cat, he saved her from her kidnappers there. She had been residing with me since.”

“And why haven’t you thrown her out? Why keep a most likely future prostitute in within your home?”

“Do you think me cruel enough to throw away a child? Who was put in a situation that she had no say in? Are you _accusing_ me of something?” He felt slight anger rising in his voice.

How _dare_ this man-

“Now, now, gentlemen. Master Joplin, this isn’t what you think. And please, Lord Pendleton, be more mindful of what you’re saying. It may seem that the man has even less of an idea than us,” Overseer Martin said, calming the tension.

Lord Pendleton seemed offended, but respected Overseer Martin enough to listen to him.

“What is the girl’s name?”

“Lela.”

He can smell the whiff of smoke rising in the air, and could only think that Samuel took out a cigar.

“That is all? Nothing else? No family name?”

“Just Lela …” Now that Piero thought of it, it was rather strange that she hasn’t shared any other name. She came from a noble family, wouldn’t it be in her favor to share her name so that she would be sent back to her home? At least, in a child’s mind. “That’s all she said, Lela.”

“What else do you know about her?”

“She is eleven of age, her birthday had been recent. Her mother was killed and the murderer sent her to the Golden Cat. Her father is still alive, but I know nothing else.”

“Well, she’s a lot more clever than one might think,” muttered Lord Pendleton under his breath.

“Master Joplin, Lela isn’t who you thought she is,” the admiral said, catching his attention. “Her real name is Emily …” He said slowly.

He heard coughing behind him, Samuel hacking and moving away trying to hide the splutter of surprise coming from him.

And suddenly, everything clicked in his mind.

“Oh.”

“You had Emily Kaldwin under your care.”

“For two months,” Piero squeaked, feeling suddenly light-headed.

Maybe he should follow Samuel, a smoke sounds about right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-


	21. Chapter 21

Delano had never let go of her hand, not since they left their home, and not since they’ve taken a ride on the skiff.

As the waves lulled the worry away, made it so that whatever fighting spirit that ingrained itself inside them dissipate, he turns around to Lela and look at her clearly with the aid of moonlight.

Her hair had been in disarray, poking in every which direction. It had been a jarring look when he was so used to seeing it so impeccably well-brushed down to its roots.

Slowly, he reached out for a strand and starts smoothing it down, waking her up from her stupor.

She had been looking _away._

Like how Papa tended to do, but different, and it felt so much worse. It made him feel useless, unable to reach out for her and tie her down with an anchor. Papa didn’t need much, he only needed someone to call for him and he would snap out of it, but Lela looked like she was stuck in a memory.

“Was that the first time you saw someone get hurt?”

“No …” Lela bites out, wrapping her free arm around herself in a hug. He indulged her without her asking, and he moved closer to wrap her in a hug. “Mother … they stabbed her in the chest, and I saw it happen.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, he only squeezed her in his arms.

She still had blood all over her face from the fight at the pub, and he starts wiping it away with his handkerchief, finding dull amusement of the fact this was finally it, this is the day the cloth will be rendered useless, against everything they used it for.

“Here, let me,” Lela muttered as she took the handkerchief, only to freeze at the sight of his arms. He frowned, before inspecting it himself, and grimaced as he realized that there was a big bruise forming from where the Overseer grabbed him. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m used to pain,” he replied.

He remembers the mean boys and girls who would beat him with sticks and the cruel adults that would chase him away. He remembers crawling back to his alcove, his very own safe place in the streets, covered with tender spots and unhealed cuts.

Winston squeaks, already feeling the sadness engulfing him, and he pulled the mouse out of his pockets to hug him.

“I’m used to pain.”

Lela made a sound of discontentment, and it was her turn to hug him, where she took the opportunity to try and wipe away whatever blood had stained him.

It will never come off, not off Delano.

Once she was done, she pulled on Papa’s jacket a bit and wrapped it around him so they could share the warmth.

“I want mama,” he admits as he pulled on his side of the jacket. “Mama knows how to fight, Mama wouldn’t have let any of this happen. She’s strong, she fought so many people before, she _taught_ me how to fight, and I couldn’t do _anything._ And now- now we’re-”

The Overseer grabbed his hands, yanked him.

Lela had to push them away to save him, and he was _useless._

“And now Papa’s- I’m s-sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, son,” Mr. Beechworth said, his voice was ever so soothing. They look up at him at the same time, and the man gives them a tired but reassuring smile. “It’s a parent’s job to care for their children, not the other way around, and from what the Admiral told me, he did an admirable job.”

“Papa doesn’t like violence.”

“Times like these doesn’t allow us to always choose. Your father saw that you two were going to get hurt, and he compromised his morals to keep you safe. Wouldn’t you do the same for your sister?”

Without delay, they both tightened their hold of each other, and nod at the same time.

** 0o0o0 **

They’ve docked somewhere new, somewhere Delano has never seen. There were high walls he can glimpse just a few streets away, but the area was generally clean, compared to everywhere else.

“Be steady now,” Mr. Beechworth said as he helped Delano out of the boat by picking him up. He couldn’t help but make a noise of displeasure, reaching to Lela, who immediately snatched his hands at his reaction.

Mr. Beechworth paused, then put him down, and helped Lela out just the same. Lela immediately had Papa’s jacket fixed around them again.

“Follow me, I’ll have to cause a ruckus to get someone up, but they’ll make food for you two.”

Lela sniffed as they were brought into a pub.

“Anyone up early in the morning?” Mr. Beechworth called, even as he pushed them to a booth. “I may need some help.”

“Samuel?” Someone called groggily.

An old woman stepped into the bar, but she didn’t look _that_ old, she looked as old as Papa, at least, but better?

Once she looked at them, her demeanor changed entirely.

“Samuel, what in the void-”

“Remember the Natural Philosopher we were supposed to have by the docking building?” Mr. Beechworth said with a grimace. Lela shied away by hiding her face in his hair, which was _still_ wet. From blood or the mist? He wouldn’t know, and didn’t care either, not when he was so _hungry._

“The admiral said he’d work outside- No, no, don’t tell me he’s-”

“He’s alive. Had a spot of trouble with Overseers, and asked us to take his kids before he joined us. The Admiral said he went to Overseer Martin to … _disrupt_ any investigation.”

The woman took a deep breath before giving them a kind smile.

“You two sit down, I’ll ask for Cecelia to ready a bath, how about that? Take all that- that blood off of you?” Delano nodded. The woman then turns and screamed at the top of her lungs to whoever this Cecelia was.

It was a red-haired woman, it turned out, one with deep freckles and green eyes that Delano couldn’t help but feel like he met her before. She looked a lot younger than Lydia.

She was surprised at their sight.

“Lydia?”

“Can you start a bath, as you can see,” she gestures. Cecelia nods and runs up as Lydia went to the back kitchens.

“What is with all this ruckus? There are people sleeping, and my lord needs his rest,” someone complained as they also entered the room. The irritation was plain on their face. “The timepiece says that it isn’t even dawn!”

“Will you quit you nagging, Wallace, we have guests,” Lydia replies, sounding just as annoyed.

The man turns around to look at them but then blinks at their site.

“I do hope you do not tarnish the furniture; it is ever so hard to remove blood stains off anything, not when we lack cleaning products.”

“Of all the things to be concerned about,” Mr. Beechworth admonished, which made the man turn away with a bit of shame in his gait.

“Apologies, cleaning is a soothing practice.”

“Alright, maybe you can help by cleaning the bloody footprints then? Before Lord Pendleton wakes up and manages to see it? We’ll get the kids cleaned up, don’t worry.”

“That is most agreeable, thank you, Samuel.” The man then leaves, talking under his breath about sweeping and discarding rags.

Mr. Beechworth ran a hand over his hair.

“Forgive Wallace, he’s plenty loyal to his Lord, and the way Pendleton arrived at the pub has left … everyone reeling.”

“How did he get here?” Lela asked, and Mr. Beechworth tilts his head before sighing tiredly.

“Like your brother, only worse.”

Lela turns to look at him, and Delano frowned as he looked at himself. The only thing he can see that could make anyone feel as jilted as everyone’s acting was the blood and the bruise-

Ah.

“It’s alright, he’s forgiven. I wouldn’t like to see Lela or Papa like this either.”

“That’s plenty kind of you, son.”

“Here’s some food,” Lydia called, and Delano felt himself drool just a bit by the sight.

It was fish, all the same, but it was _different_ than how Papa made it.

He couldn’t help but immediately dig into it, finally feeling the rumble in his stomach in full force.

** 0o0o0 **

They didn’t have the liquid soap that papa has.

Which was terrible and annoying, because the bar soaps they have here isn’t as nice smelling or as easy to use to clean themselves with.

Lydia had taken his hand and made sure to scrub everything away, and once he was done, he couldn’t help but resent bar soaps with how rough they felt. Once he was out, Lydia grabbed Lela and pulled her into the bathroom to do much the same.

Delano sits in front of the bathroom door, refusing to move until he knew Lela was done.

Cecelia tried to trick him into sleeping in a bed, but he still refused.

That was until he sees a familiar figure reaching them.

“Delano, Samuel’s gone out to bring your father,” the Admiral said, and he couldn’t help but slowly nod at him. He sends a distrustful look at the man behind him, who was wearing an Overseer coat but has no mask to hide his face behind.

The man must have noticed, as he nods at him and turns away to look at the admiral.

“I’ll have to talk to Pendleton, there is some light being shed on his situation.”

“Let the man rest,” the Admiral said, but the Overseer glared at him.

“He has rested well enough, it had been a _week._ ”

“It is rude to speak of someone behind their back,” someone said.

When Delano looked up, he couldn’t help but wince a bit at the sight.

Mr. Beechworth was right, he did look a lot worse than him.

“And I can handle whatever it is I am needed for, Havelock. Do not treat me like some infantile-”

“You almost bled out when you got here!”

“And I am currently _fine._ Turn your concern to the actual infantile in this room, I will have this discussion with Martin so we can all have our affairs in order. Let me concern ourselves with the politics,” Lord Pendleton didn’t look pleased at all before looking down at him.

The man didn’t seem to have any sort of opinion of him, not instantly. He seemed confused for a moment, raising a brow, before shaking his head and turning at the Overseer.

“What new movements have you heard of?”

That’s when the doors opened, and Lela stepped out with clean though oversized clothes and a towel around her neck.

The moment she looked at Lord Pendleton, her face turned ashen, and she screamed.

“Stay away! Stay away from me! You can’t take me back!” She yelled, now trying to escape Lydia’s hold in fear. Delano immediately stood up, now afraid of what was happening. Who was threatening Lela? Why is she scared?

He can’t let any more of his family hurt.

Lela escaped Lydia's grasp and ran to him, grabbing his hand, and tried to pull him to the door. She was trying to _escape._

“Lela, wait! What’s the matter?” Lydia said in concern as she blocked the door just in time, and Lela made a noise of fear as she sent a look at Lord Pendleton.

When Delano turned, he could see Lord Pendleton’s own face turn paler than it already is.

“No … no, this is impossible,” he breathed in, catching everyone’s attention. He pushed the Admiral out of the way to get close, and Delano growled at him as he stepped in front of Lela, trying to protect her as she made a wounded noise, _still_ trying to get away.

“Your- Your ladyship? Lady Emily?” He whispered.

And the room fell silent, Lela still had a scared look, but then took a stance, raising her chin against him, finally getting over whatever fear had controlled her.

“You will not take me back.”

“Back to where?” Lord Pendleton slowly asked.

“To the Golden Cat,” she yelled.

Lord Pendleton seemed to choke on something, and he stood up, taking a step away from them.

“Oh,” was all he said before turning back to the Admiral and Overseer. “Well, this- this explains why my brothers had been agitated since- since-”

And the man faints.

Which caused a lot more chaos than expected.

Lela looked a bit horrified at first, but then a trickle of guilt started to seep in.

He bumped his shoulders onto hers and forced her to look at him as the adults panicked at the fallen man.

“Ladyship?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened before Piero got to the pub.


	22. Chapter 22

“And that is how I ended up with Lela in my care,” Piero explained for what could have been the fourth time this morning.

He was hungry, tired, sleep-deprived, and most certainly anxious to see the children in relative safety. So, none of these procedures were appreciated.

“Lady Emily,” Lord Pendleton corrects, and Piero made a noise at the back of his throat. “Her name is Emily Kaldwin, and you should refer her as such.”

“She introduced herself as Lela, and I will do so until she tells me otherwise.”

“Logistics aside,” Overseer Martin cuts in, looking just as irritated as Piero felt. The Admiral had seemed to be calmer than a man is permitted to be in such a situation, but from what he learned of the man up till now, this is rather normal. He seemed to be the type to observe before coming to a decision, and whatever doubt he had in mind is best hidden there. “We are in an advantage, we have the heir in our care, and we can protect her until a time where we can put her back on the throne.”

“And to do that, we need to get the royal protector out of prison,” Admiral Havelock said, grabbing each of their attention. “Yes, this is a benefit to us, but her safety depends on getting the current lord regent off of his seat of power. We cannot do that ourselves, not with the aid we currently have.”

So, they wanted the royal protector as an arm, that explained some things.

“As I said, Admiral Havelock, I just need to work out the sticking paste before finishing the explosives. It might take a few weeks.”

“I remember, you said so before the … interruption.”

“Yes, the event that led to my current situation, where I sit down for all to see covered in rusted blood. It would be appreciated if I can _have a bath._ ”

They all looked at him before looking away in shame, Piero ran a hand through his face before slapping the table.

“I- I am grateful, for all of you. If it weren’t for any one of you, I would not have a safe space to settle in with my children- with my child. But- But I have come to care of Lela as much as one would care of their own. I will not claim her as such, not with the news that she is- she is the royal heir, I am sure that many would have my head were that to happen.”

Lord Pendleton snorts, but he does drop his glare.

“I just want the children’s safety. I will do _anything_ for their safety at the moment. I have already killed a man of religion to do so. And whatever you had planned in place for her here, as I am sure you wouldn’t have planned to bring the royal heir without any way of preparing her for the throne, I would at least like some time to spend with her.”

“Are you _trying_ to get into her graces, a sort of way to have an ear, some power in court?” Lord Pendleton accused, and Piero huffed in anger.

“I have taken care of Lela-”

“ _Lady Emily!_ ”

“Lela! I have taken care of Lela since she came to me, scared and afraid because of your two heathen brothers keeping her in a house filled with harlots! And if you are to be around here, I will not feel it safe for her to be around-”

Lord Pendleton stood, a thundering look of fury filled his eyes, and he raised his hands, as if ready to smack Piero.

But he stops.

He stood straight, tidying up his coat, and stomps his way out of the room. He slammed the door behind him, and the next thing they knew, they heard him call for his manservant and ordered a strong bottle of whiskey.

Piero … might have felt a smidge guilty, but he would stand by his words.

“I can see we are all stressed, and you are as well, but please excuse Lord Pendleton for his behavior. He hasn’t had a good time even before coming here.”

“And what could it have been that made him act so brazen?”

“The Pendleton twins act cruelly to everyone but their own twin,” Overseer Martin said coolly, staring at him with cold eyes. “And they have been acting more so towards their younger brother for a while, for a few months now, I suppose. Which coincidentally corresponds with a certain lady’s escape.”

Piero did not speak.

It seems that he had made assumptions and mistakes today, he would have to … ramify his attitude and apologize.

“Well, once the royal protector is here, I will be glad to make whatever weapon he may want to have those twins taken care of,” he muttered before rubbing the back of his neck. Overseer Martin nods at the perceived apology.

“Make no mistake, Master Joplin,” Admiral Havelock continues. “I can see where you are coming from, but the sake of the empire comes before the sake of one’s feelings. This all is unexpected, but it is a great tiding that Lady Emily hasn’t stayed with her captors for long. She will not forget these months for as long as she lives. But, it’s time to let others take care of the matter. I have already contacted someone and hired a governess for her. Lord Pendleton was originally brought into operation so he could be her royal tutor where the sake of the empire is concerned.”

“Lord Pendleton? He isn’t even the head of his own house-”

“Anyone who goes against him in court sees him as adversity, and he knows the ruling body and the governmental laws by heart. If it weren’t for the lord regent’s current favor of the twins, he would have been in a much higher standing within the noble society.”

“… I see, so he will take care to teach her how to rule.”

“As best as he could until we put her back to power, and have the original tutors in the palace come back to continue her education.”

“And the governess?”

“All the simple things that Lord Pendleton shouldn’t teach a lady. Etiquette, music, embroidery, dancing, and whatever basic knowledge that she should have kept up with.”

“And I will take over her teachings of the seven strictures,” Overseer Martin said, shocking Piero entirely with his declaration. “I may not need to do so at all, but an Empress should know of the strictures, and its concerns, and the dealings between the crown and the Abbey of Everyman. She may have already gone through those courses, as one would expect from the heir, but a few sessions to remind her is best until someone else of higher standing within the abbey would do so.”

“I … I see, you have all of this figured out. I apologize for my hostility, it has been … a rather long day.”

“Let us all cool off until we can calmly converse with each other then. None of us were ready for today, and you do rather smell,” Overseer Martin said, giving him a bland smile.

** 0o0o0 **

Once he was out of the bath, freshly clean, and scrubbed every patch of dirt he managed to attach to himself, he couldn’t help but gravitate to a singular bed.

It had two heads above a pillow. He noted the fact that one other bed looked messy, and figured that one of the two had moved to join the other, a habit that Piero would have not allowed to form if he knew who Lela was originally.

How was he to explain that the royal heir is used to sleeping with a boy because there wasn’t any other bed in the apartment she lived in? Or that it was a better option than drowning themselves in non-existent sheets and blankets to gain any source of warmth?

He sits on the floorboard to think of the news, and grimaced as he thought deeply on their situation.

He heard Delano make a slight noise, and shuffled in his place. Piero’s hands immediately went to his head, running his fingers through his hair as he brushed his fringes away from his eyes.

The boy must have felt it, as he slowly settled back to sleep.

Piero will have to make a new abode and new cavern of sorts. It will not be this room, that he is sure of, not when there are other beds for other people that he could not entirely trust.

But then comes the problem with Lela’s- Lady Emily’s sleeping post.

It would not be appropriate to have her sleep with Delano anymore. They will make use of another room, most likely the attic for it is large enough, and have the governess sleep with her. It will be untraditional, the governess was meant to have her own room in a household, even if her role was to be a second mother of sorts.

But a need is a must.

No one else would be appropriate, none of the men, and they couldn’t well let Lela- Lady Emily sleep with the maids, or alone after what happened to her.

He backs his head on the bed’s edge.

His head spins.

He hasn’t slept for the day, and he hasn’t taken his daily dose of elixir nor eaten anything at all. Running on one meal a day might have been economical, but it certainly was not healthy.

So, he drops his head on the edge of the bed and let himself fall asleep like he usually did when he got too worried over the kids, slightly hovering over them.

He was then reminded of Lela’s – Lady Emily’s – father.

Piero was certain that who she referred to as a father was not really her father, oh no.

She meant the assassin, the one who murdered Empress Jessamine, as people thought.

Piero ran his free hand over his face.

He was not the murderer, that much he is certain. He is reminded of Delano's claim, the whalers, jumping towards the palace. Putting all of this together painted a complicated picture.

For a while now, he knew that the royal protector was not the one who assassinated the empress.

He was still a killer by profession, hired to protect. The man could have stayed a bodyguard if it weren’t for the involvement of magic-wielding assassins. The hand over Delano’s head starts to shake a bit, as a pulse of the void fluttered with his every breath. It was cold and clammy in ways that could not be explained. What was cold was the absence of heat, the absence of light, the absence of any object to emit some heat or cause friction.

Delano’s breath never fogs outside during the cold mornings.

But there was a warmth to it, in the hums of whales and the bones of leviathans. How many nights did he spend curled around a charm when it had been too much, when he had been alone and his son was with Delilah. It warmed him, made him feel safe, it felt both right and wrong at the same time.

Magic was both good and bad, like a fire that is both useful and destructive.

The royal protector wouldn’t see it as such, not if he is as keen in instinct as it is rumored. What if the man could smell the magic off of them? Off of Delano? What if he decides to strike?

See them as part of the group who had taken Lela away from him and her mother?

Anxious, looking for a solution, he stayed conscious for as long as he could until he fell asleep.

** 0o0o0 **

Much to his dismay, he was shaken awake. His arms were numb after sleeping in such an odd position. The motion wasn’t so much as a shake, but a weak push and tug from none other than Delano, who looked too absentminded from what little sleep he has gotten.

For one fearful second, Piero thought that he was having an _episode,_ one much like his own. Fortunately, his mind returned to normal functions, and realize that the child was only tired.

Delano didn’t speak, only raised his arms in that achingly old familiar way he did when he started trusting him. Piero acted on instinct and picked Delano off the bed as he stood up.

The boy is getting heavier.

“What’s the matter?”

“Alright?” Delano asked, giving him a wide-eyed look filled with concerned innocence. Piero nods, before huffing.

“I should be asking you and Lela- Lady Emily?”

“Lela,” Delano cuts in immediately, frowning. “Her name’s Lela.”

Piero sighs.

“Lela may have asked us to call her as such, but her real name is Emily. We should be using her title from now on.”

“Why?”

“Well … she is important. She is going to rule the empire if what we do here is going to succeed.”

“But she’s just a kid, she’s 11,” Delano said incredulously. Piero stares at him for a moment, catching that glimpse of Delilah’s disgust for a second, the same expression she wore when something unbelievably moronic passed her. The way his nose scrunched, his chin turned upward, the too fine eyebrow furrow and quirked at once.

Delano’s features weren’t so sharp before the ritual, had he really never looked at his son since then?

“I know, but it is what it is.”

“She can’t be a noble, she’s not horrible.”

“Not all nobles are horrible.”

“Lord Pendleton is _,_ he made Lela scared.”

Piero ran a hand over his face. Well, this was complicated. He does not begrudge Lela – Lady Emily – her fear. The twins at the Golden Cat certainly did look like Lord Pendleton, and what Overseer Martin had told him kindly confirmed his suspension.

“Lord Pendleton has older twin brothers.”

After a moment of contemplation, a look of sudden understanding passed Delano’s face. He couldn’t help but smile at how fast his son’s thoughts ran. He truly is far too smart for his age.

“Fine, but that does not mean he’s not horri- horrible.”

“His attitude might need a tad bit fixing,” Piero agreed.

Then they heard a sudden noise coming from the bed, and the blankets shifted to show Lela with her disheveled hair, looking at them with confusion for a moment before awareness flashed in her eyes. Not a moment later, she latched onto him in a hug he has come to associate with her, of tiny limbs with too much energy trying to hold everything she could in them.

They were both safe now, that was what mattered to him.

They were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re wondering, the first change I made is that the twins became even crueler after Emily escaped. They took out their frustration on anyone they could, and Trevor was there.  
> The conspiracy has Emily now, and they’re basically telling Piero that he shouldn’t continue how he has been doing before. Which … will cause problems in the future. A lot of problems.


	23. Chapter 23

Piero is busy.

He is _busy._

He thought he was busy before, but that accounted for his time spending with the children. Now, he had no such time at all, because he was _busy._

He had more space, and a few empty streets, to test some weapons without hindrance, or constantly surveilling the area behind his back for any would-be wanderer. It allowed him to re-attune the already built weapons into higher efficiency.

Havelock gets him supplies, an experience he thought solely lost to him after Sally’s gang disbanded. Although not as massive or as helpful as it would have happened in the past, most of the items on his list did reach his hands, and he almost finished the sticking paste for the highly compact explosive.

Helpfully, he will be able to add the past to other gadgets, like the spring razor.

There was the advantage of having a damp area right underneath his feet, rarely accessed by others. He took the opportunity to swim down into the sewers late at night without anyone’s supervision, a lamp raised above the surface to keep it alight.

The hagfish typically ignored him, and as he twisted his arms to have the sewers gates opened since the lock was behind bars, he cried in triumph once it stuck into place and he was able to pass with one dip.

To his delight, he did find a budding river krust colony, but only as little immature buds.

While his son was the one with green hands, it had always been Piero’s pleasure to work with these plants. So, he rearranges them, puts them in a hard to access spot where only he would be able to enter.

Soon, these plants will become adults, and he’d be able to secrete some of their acids to let him study more into the effects of the antidote, knowing full well that it was the experiments with a high concentration of the acid that succeeded.

As he explored the sewers a bit more, he ended up in the boiler room.

Which was completely broken, rusted, and cold from disuse, leaving him a bit distressed at the sight.

The entirety of the pub had been sleeping in the cold for too long, and with his arrival, he could manage to rig some of the boilers to use a minuscule amount of Whale oil instead of the coal system built into it to heat the establishment.

Something everyone has been grateful for.

Coal had been a hardly used resource in recent years and has become scarce in most establishments. With the refineries situated next to them, and a discreetly installed pipeline to Old Port installed under the Admiral’s command, they could easily use it without questioning from official sources.

Throughout all of this, the two children had followed his every step, much to the dismay of one Lord Pendleton and slight concern of Admiral Havelock.

Apparently, accompanying a Natural Philosopher and watching or helping him do labor was not an ideal pass time for a future empress. If someone had previously told him that Lela should not be helping him do these things, he would have scoffed at them. Just because she was a woman does not entail that people would be inclined in helping her.

He remembers his mother, and remembers how she hardly had any help in _manly_ labor.

However, with the knowledge that Lela is not a simple bastard of a noble family, and with the constant observation of _every person in the pub_ over her and her actions, he has to admit that maybe employing the future empress’s help with his daily work – never mind that this had been their favorite pass time back at Waterfront – should see a stop.

He would have listened to their concerns, he really would, if it didn’t mean going against Lela’s – Lady Emily’s – betrayed eyes, accusing him of abandonment.

He is frankly very weak against those.

So, if Lord Pendleton had any say so, he should say so, but not to him.

“You are indulging her far too much!”

“And you are too controlling. She is already attending her political classes with you, is she not? Until the governess Havelock hired arrives, she has nothing else to do.”

“We are speaking about the future empress of the _empire_ ,” Lord Pendleton hissed at him. “What are the people to say if they knew she had to sit on her knees all day _planting_ your abominations-”

“She did that for fun!” Piero snaps back. “I did not ask her for that. She and Delano enjoy gardening.”

“She will have gardeners in the future if she enjoys looking at the flora, she does not need to do it herself.”

“Void,” Piero mumbled under his breath as Pendleton left his lab. What was he to do? Go to Lela and tell her to stop gardening? Is that not, in a way, going against the wishes of the empress?

The next problem had come when they found out that Lela and Delano had went up fishing behind everyone’s back. It had only come to their attention when Samuel had praised Piero for teaching them how to do it right, which had left him reeling because he did notteach them how to fish.

Once again, most of the pub had fussed over Lela and essentially banned her from going out by the river again. They cited how dangerous it is nowadays to do so, that anyone could see her.

He felt insulted when they said no such thing to Delano, who also frowned at them in confusion and slight dejection, but ultimately did not act on it. He felt even more insulted when they berated him for dragging Lela – She is _Lady Emily_ and he should start calling her that – outside in the first place.

At night, he would find his son curled up in his bed earlier than usual, mumbling about how he missed the coven, and how much they had cared for him like how everyone cared for Lela.

To the exasperation of everyone, Lela ignored their advice the very next day and had dragged Delano out of the workshop to go on another misadventure, which ended up with Lord Pendleton glaring daggers at his direction.

He could not wait any longer for that governess to arrive just so he could have all that attention off of him.

What he hated most out of this whole voidscaped experience was the constant interruption into his lectures. He already taught both children Arithmancy, so he delved deeper into their teachings, and whenever someone passed them by and heard him speak, they would usually ask him to simplify his lessons.

Which is an affront to not only his teaching skills, but the children’s intelligence.

Delano did not have much of a problem following his lessons, as he did listen to him every time he worked and soaked each sentence he gave him. Lela, on the other hand, he might need to adjust his lessons for her a bit. She was still above average as far as he can tell, much better at calculations than most adults he worked with. She did not need words to be dumbed down for her.

Although, he did usually work with gangsters, so it was not as high of a praise as he would have liked.

Yet again, he could see the doubt in their eyes once he explained away everything to them, that he would not dumb down himself for their own comfort. It would intensify when Delano giggled at his words or joined him in the insult.

He had seen it before, where people thought him incompetent, or thought him as someone not fit to be around children. He did not care for such looks before, but now?

It made him furious.

** 0o0o0 **

“Why is my face split up in the middle?” He questioned, grimacing at the palette of choice. It wasn't so much as a split, but a clash in the coloring theme.

“To show the two sides of a coin. I cannot simply paint one side and forget the other,” she chuckled, as she turns around. There had been other portraits, one of a woman with short hair that seemed to be swallowed up by flames, another was of Delano himself cast in somewhat light colors.

“I like this one.”

“Of course you do, it’s of our son.”

“My son, I still cannot accept your intrusion in our relationship,” Piero said, huffing with irritation. “My precious little child, he looks like you! He only has my colors!”

“And your intelligence, if I do recall. I did so enjoy the talk down he did with the others you are living with,” she chuckled, her grin filled with her bright teeth.

“My child is arrogant,” Piero despaired. “And I have you to blame.”

“Me? Is it not you who constantly mocked those of ill education?”

“It is not of ill education that I mock, it is of those who decide they do not need to learn anymore!” Piero snapped. “Just because you end up as a city guard or someone of high position does not mean you can only depend on that. Such a shallow attitude is so- so-”

“See, it is not me he is learning such attitude from, _I_ should be scolding you, not the other way around.”

“I give up.”

“That is a first,” she chuckled as she goes back to her current painting. Piero’s eyes land on another, and he couldn’t help but huff.

“You sure did pick up the flair he exudes,” he comments as he stood in front of the portrait of the Leviathan himself. “He might not be so amused by this portrait.”

“He deserves it for denying my visits. Appearing to both you and Delano while flittering away from me like a fly.”

“Mayhap it has something to do with the fact that you fractured a part of reality intentionally?”

“You,” she snapped, pointing at him with her brush. Piero knew well enough that if she wanted to kill him with a drawing utensil, she would be able to do so. “Must you be so smug?”

“You need to be smug yourself to identify such qualities in others.”

“How infuriating.”

“What’s infuriating is that painting of me, I do _not_ have red eyes.”

“It’s only one eye that is red.”

“Yes, and I seem blind in the other!”

“You are blind when you are awake, and ruthless while asleep. You have such interesting ideas, weapons unseen by anyone before, that I sometimes wonder why you bother restraining yourself as you wake up, intentionally blinding yourself of your potential.”

“What is the point of power, if the whole world is ruined after you use it?”

“So, you finally admit to it?”

He couldn’t look her in the eyes, only stared back at his own portrait. The split was diagonal, one side monotone and dark, illuminated by the rays of light penetrating the surface of the water. The other side had been covered in flames, the focus is all the more bizarre with how the background was void and empty.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I can get away with oxidizing the beams in Kaldwin Bridge,” he said, a smile slowly appeared over his face. “I have a formula in my head that could work, it would take a couple of hours, but knowing how much Sokolov gets engrossed in his research ...”

“He would be lost to the waters.”

“Let his precious rituals save him then,” he laughs.

** 0o0o0 **

Piero woke the next morning feeling a headache pounding onto his skull and an irritated mood to accompany it. Looking to the side, he can find a tray with bread. There was a tin of something he couldn’t tell, the label had been scrapped, but he was sure he wouldn’t like it as much as the fresh fish he usually bought from the wharf.

There was a pitcher of water that was already halfway finished, most likely the children had already eaten. Next to the pitcher were two cups and a tonic.

His hands immediately went to the tonic and cracked it open, gulping the whole thing down.

He felt like a drunkard who laughed the night away.

What did he dream of this time? Flaming eyes and drowning men? Numbers and letters dancing in his head as it turns into dripping acid that could eat away steal.

Piero blinked.

That should be a good idea, acid to melt steel. It would take some time, but it is more discrete than an explosive. He would need to note it down for his future projects, but until then, he had work to do.

Neither of the children had been in the lab as he started. Seeing as the sun was already halfway through the sky, he thought that Lela already went to her lesson and Delano was doing whatever he tended to do when no one watched him.

His thoughts were cut off midway through his work when loud screeching was heard outside.

He ran a hand through his face.

He knew, intimately, that this would end up with someone barging into the lab yelling at him for another misconduct that he has no idea he crossed.

He was not surprised to have someone walking towards him, ill intent coloring their steps.

He was surprised by the new voice.

“You are most definitely the worst minder I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” the new person said.

It was feminine and caring yet authoritative all at once. No nonsense shall pass this person, no tomfoolery will be ignored, and no negligence shall be tolerated.

Turning around presented him with a blonde woman he had never met before, but she had been holding Delano’s hand, who had been sulking darkly at the floor.

“Excuse me?”

“Allowing your son to have a pet rat! When everyone knew that rats carry the plague!”

“That is a mouse, not a rat, and its name is Winston,” Piero blurts, still staring at this woman who had brazenly entered his lab without much care. Delano’s face lights up, and do mouse squeaks and cheer.

“They shouldn’t be allowed near _anyone_ , and if you care enough about your child, none the less Lady Emily’s safety, you would have not allowed them to have it as a pet.”

“Winston is family,” Piero said, affronted. Though he is not attached to the thing as much as Delano is, who had the mouse as his only company for too long, he did not appreciate the implication of her words. “And we take the elixirs every single day, there wouldn’t be a chance of them catching it. If there were any concern of us catching the plague, we would have been dead a year ago.”

Delano took that moment to yank his hand away and ran to him, hiding behind his back and peaking at the woman with a glare.

“Delano, perhaps it is time for lunch?”

“It’s dinnertime,” Delano replies petulantly but did leave his side with some reluctance, still glaring at the woman as he passed her to go to the pub.

Now, left alone with a stranger that had a glaring dislike of him, he felt a smidge uncomfortable before sighing.

“I’m Piero Joplin, if you need anything fixed or built, you can come and ask me.”

“I’m Callista Curnow," she replies. Still eying him critically. He couldn't help but notice how intense and remarkable her grey eyes were. "I am brought here as a governess.”

Piero blinks, and blinks even more, then mentally cursed as he realized that he ruined any semblance of leaving a good impression on the woman who will have more authority over Lela than any other person in this place.

Outsider’s crooked cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAIN QUEST: Take care of children. [Complete]  
> MAIN QUEST: Build weapons of mass destruction. [89% Progression]
> 
> SIDE QUEST: Take care of self. [66% Progression]  
> SIDE QUEST: Build gadgets. [89% Progression]  
> SIDE QUEST: Fix equipment. [Complete]  
> SIDE QUEST: Find love. [Failed]


	24. Chapter 24

“I hate this place,” Delano yells as he throws another rock at the water, watching it jump further and further away. “I _hate_ it. No one listens to me, they always kick me out when they are doing something, and they always yell at me for doing something wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Maybe if you should … umm … tone it down a bit?” Lela said, frowning a bit. Delano scoffs, picks a rock, and throws it without much preparation, letting the rock plop and sink.

“Tone what down? All I do is mind my own business, and they still hate me.”

“They’re nice, they wouldn’t hate you.”

“They’re nice to you, not me! You’re the _Ladyship_ , they have to be nice to you, but everything I do is _wrong wrong wrong!_ But I didn’t do anything wrong, and Papa says so, so why do they hate me?!” This time, a loud splash accompanied the rock as it hit the surface. “Last night, Callista said that I had the worst table manners and scolded me for it in front of everyone!”

Lela didn’t say anything to that, and in his mind, he knew that she thought the same thing as Callista.

“Well, if I had such bad manners, why wouldn’t they teach me?! I can learn, I’m a good learner! Both Mama and Papa say so!" He huffed. "I wish I was with Mama and not here, this place is terrible.”

“You don’t really mean that, do you?”

“I do! They tell me to leave you alone when you have your lessons, and I do, and they’re not satisfied. I try to help in the kitchen and they get annoyed and tell me to leave, and I do. Void, Lela, I tried to sweep the floor one time and Wallace gave me a lecture for half a day! Papa is too busy with work, and you’re too busy with lessons, what am I to do? It’s boring, and lonely, and terrible. Mama would have never let something like this happen at the manor, and everyone loved me there, they always invited me to do things with them, no matter how boring.”

Much to his dismay, rock-throwing wasn’t as satisfying as it ought to be, so he stomps at the edge of the water and felt just as disappointed as before with how _unsatisfying_ it is.

Then he drops, uncaring of getting himself drenched as he sat and let his anger roll off of him, willing for the waves to wash it away.

“And you don’t even care anymore! Ever since we got here, you just enjoyed whatever attention you got and ignored me.”

“I do not!”

“You do so!”

“Well, it’s not my fault you’re- you’re-”

“I’m what?”

“Unimportant.”

“ _Unimportant,_ ” Delano said incredulously, feeling more heat climbing his face and more anger hitting his head and his heart is beating so loudly. “I _am_ important! Mama says so!”

“Then where is she if you’re so important to her!?” Lela snapped.

And with her words, the waves fell silent, a void took its place.

And Delano … Delano felt … angry, but not?

More frustrated.

He felt like crying.

“Fuck you, Lela!” He yelled before standing up and kicked the sand in her direction before running away.

** 0o0o0 **

Papa was busy. There was an air of the void still hanging above his head as he stares aimlessly while his hand worked constantly, moving and shifting as it built and it built under each finger.

He does not interrupt him, not when he is like this, doing something important and very much needed.

Winston had been making noises, distressed noises, he was just as sad as Delano felt and it bothered him to hear one of his few real friends like this.

Delano sat on the bed above the workshop and pulled the automaton, letting it play and dance around much like it did the first time around. Papa never got around to making the music box, and although Delano has some sort of idea to make one himself, he didn’t feel that excited about making it.

Once the sound underneath stopped, and lazy steps were heard coming up the stairs, his Papa looked at him in surprise before sitting next to him with worry on his face.

“What is the matter, Delano?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. What were they to do anyway? Go back home, after the Overseers ran over it? Go back to the manor, where something is deeply broken and deeply unnerving delved within after what Delano himself did with his ritual?

Papa pulled him into a hug, humming at the same time that nonsensical tune of his.

“I have finished my job. For the time being, I am free.”

“Free? As in …” He did not hope, but Papa gave him that soft tired smile of his, and he couldn’t help but let a little bit of that hope shine. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Can we- Can we spend time together?”

“Of course, I would have done so earlier. What do you want to do?”

“I want …” What did he want? “I want time with just the two of us.”

Papa raised a brow.

“Just as? Without Lela?”

“Lela has her _lessons_ and has everyone else to entertain her, I only have you. I want to- I want to- I want to spend time outside of this place.”

“So, let’s explore Old Port then, we haven’t done that.”

“Why not away from Old Port?”

“It’s not safe, Delano. Nowadays, there aren’t any new safe areas to explore. I knew Waterfront wasn’t as safe either, but people there tended to ignore us for … umm … our relation to your Aunt. We do not have such a thing here.”

“Then let’s go to Uncle Slackjaw!”

“Delano …”

He gives up.

Of course.

** 0o0o0 **

They end up planting River Krusts in a sewer system just outside of Old Port. They were a bit cautious, Papa had brought a pistol and gave it to him. Told him to shoot if they ever meet a Weeper.

Papa didn’t need to say that at all, he knows well enough not to let them get close.

It was exciting, as exciting as any trip he had taken outside of the manor. The forest was hardly explored, nor are the paths here. Sometimes they’d find loot, sometimes they’d find journals that he’d attempt to read and Papa would tell him if he had succeeded or improved since last time.

Reading books made with the printed press was a lot easier than reading handwriting.

Once they are done, they decided to go back to the workshop.

Delano was ready to go to sleep after such a fun day, where he didn’t need to see anyone from the pub. He was happy because he knew that if he asked, Papa would also sleep with him in bed, even if he complained that he was too old to ask that anymore. He liked dragging him back instead of letting him sleep on the steel flooring under the desk, no matter how many sheets they covered it with.

Lela hadn’t slept with him since the first day they got here, he thought irritably.

At first, they always had her sleep in a different bed, but at least it was the same room. When Callista came, Papa had to build a bridge to the lone tower and they went to sleep there, leaving him alone.

He didn’t stay at the sleeping quarters afterward, he didn’t like any of the people there.

Maybe Lydia and … Cecelia … They were nice but too busy. Everyone else can just go rot in the void.

“Are you tired?”

“Mmm,” he nods. Papa smiled again and offered to carry him off.

Delano wanted to accept, but decided against it. Not when his papa looked ready to snap in two right then and there.

He grabs his hand instead, holding it tightly to plant him on the ground, to stop any wind from whisking him away, or from dropping into the floor and lose his mind. Once was enough, and it was such a terrifying experience.

** 0o0o0 **

Admiral Havelock had been over again, looking at Papa’s invention with admiration and a sort of glint that he only ever saw on Aunt Breanna when she watched Papa write in runes. There was a thirst for more, for knowing more, or having more. It was a greedy look that Delano couldn’t quite explain.

Because he had been here, he took their whole day away. Delano only watched them as he played with his automaton, he tried to pry it open before deciding to create one of his own, to imitate it as best as possible.

The Admiral asked and asked and asked, he was so interested in how Papa made these things, what he made them from, how much it cost, how much time it would take. Papa never noticed the time passing, never really does in a good day, and it was worse when he had something interesting to take his attention away.

Delano frowned when the Admiral tested the things. He’d falter at first, ask for Papa to see it, confusing him.

Of course, it would confuse him. Papa made such excellent crafts that it was mind-boggling when it didn’t work. There was no way that his weapons would be anything less than perfect. Delano had a hunch that maybe the Admiral was having a joke on him, making him feel incompetent or such.

He felt a bit angry with how long he hovered over Papa as he looked at the weapon, reattuned the wire, re-bolted a screw, checked the balance of the bullet and the casings holding it. The Admiral would ask to see it before they’re fixed, he’d fumble as they pass the things to each other, and Papa would look on exasperated because even he wasn’t that clumsy.

Delano huffed, throwing his wrench and deciding to leave them alone with their love of weaponry.

He ends up by the quay, where Mr. Beechworth was sitting and was carving wood. He looked at him for a moment before patting the ground next to him. It was an invitation that Delano gladly accepts.

“What’s got you so irritated?” Mr. Beechworth asked, his voice was always kind, always nice, and always steady even against the waves and the way the skiff tilted at times. 

Delano shrugged.

He didn’t exactly know.

“When did it start?”

“Morning.”

“Since morning? That’s a long time to be so annoyed, it must be serious. What happened differently this morning?”

“Admiral Havelock asked Papa about the weapons.”

“That’s nothing unusual, son.”

“No, but they just kept talking, _all_ day.”

“That’s also nothing unusual. Is there anything else that’s bothering you? Maybe a part of the talk?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, and thought it over before realizing that yes, there was something strange. “The Admiral has weird eyes.”

Mr. Beechworth only raised a brow, and Delano flushed, realizing that he didn’t explain his words in the right way, again and again. Talking is hard, and words are harder.

“How weird is it?”

“Umm … they just kept … looking.”

“I reckon that’s what eyes usually do,” Mr. Beechworth joked, and he couldn’t help but huff. He wanted to laugh, but he is angry and annoyed and frustrated and didn’t know why. “Must be some fine weapons your pops built for him to look at them for long.”

“He was looking at Papa, not the weapons. Which is annoying because if he quit and actually looked at what he was holding he wouldn’t be fumbling all the time!”

Mr. Beechworth fell silent.

“Oh,” he says after a while, stretching the word with a look of realization. He chuckles awkwardly, before patting Piero on the back. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“It’ll take time, I have to admit. It’s not easy when someone takes away your father’s attention from you. But sometimes, adults enjoy the company of other adults.”

“But Papa didn’t need one until now.”

“From the way I heard it, I don’t think anyone’s been spending time with him,” Mr. Beechworth said with a frown. Delano huffed, knowing exactly well how that felt. “Everyone’s stressed, and they probably thought he was the cause of most of the problems.”

“But Papa _fixes_ problems,” he protested.

“Which is something the Admiral took notice of and appreciates. That’s why he’s spending time with him,” there was the taste of a lie in the air, which was surprising coming from Mr. Beechworth. Delano can smell that it wasn’t malicious, it was somehow wrapped in some sort of … protection? It was an odd combination.

But Mama and Aunt Breanna had it sometimes, so he didn’t question it.

They sat in comfortable silence afterward.

“The admiral sure has a strange taste,” Mr. Beechworth comments at some point, and Delano sends him a questioning look before deciding to ignore it.

If this is how adults act, he doesn't want to grow up.

** 0o0o0 **

“Papa,” Delano asked when the sun was finally gone. Samuel has left, along with Admiral Havelock and Overseer Martin. They had come to pick everything up, the pub was anticipating something, and Papa had sat down staring at the mask since they left.

His attention wavered by his call, and he turns to look at Delano with slight confusion.

“Yes?”

“Nightmare,” he lied. He did not sleep at all. But Papa didn’t know that, and predictably, he lets go of the mask to come join him to bed, like he always did when Delano asked.

Neither of them slept, they watched as the moon crept over the sky, neither of them had the energy to close down the shutters and blocking it. Papa had complained before that they’ll get sick if they continued doing so, but Delano was used to sleeping in cold places, so it didn’t bother him.

“Am I unimportant?” Delano asked.

“Why would you think that?”

“No one spends time with me.”

“I do,” Papa said, his voice now filled with concern as he shifts to stare at him.

“But others don’t.”

“Oh, Delano …” Papa whispered, and he felt the bed shuffle a bit before his arms wrapped around him. “Didn’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“You are within my breastbone.”

Suddenly, all the frustration, anger, sadness, and loneliness slowly ebbed away. He starts to giggle, and hid his head into his Papa’s chest, bumping his head. It was so warm, and it felt nice.

“Right here?”

“Exactly right there.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You love me that much?”

Papa fell silent, and Delano felt his heart drop.

He felt _stupid._ Papa never said love, only Mama did. Papa wasn’t like that, he doesn’t like-

“More so than anything else,” Papa finally said. “I stubbornly took you away from death, and if that is not an act of love, I do not know what else is.”

Delano was left reeling for a moment, before remembering the first night they met.

He settles his head on his Papa’s chest, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Poor baby, none of this is your fault, everyone’s just too busy. But jealousy is unbecoming.
>   2. **SAMUEL:** In my old, I have seen many things, heard many cries, said many a word. And I’ll tell you, it doesn’t get any less strange. 
>   3. **PIERO:** If the admiral drops a bolt one more time, I will attach a harpoon next time- 
> 



	25. Chapter 25

The morning was tiresome.

Delano woke up and found that Papa has also woken up before him, but he was in the state of here-but-not-here, always looking as if he was unseeing-and-unfeeling-with-his-head-boiling-and-in-too-much-pain.

He simply stared ahead, eyes glazed, hands mildly shaking as his breath took too much energy to work its way out of him.

Delano rubbed his eyes and sighs before leaving the bed and pulling the blankets over him, making sure he was warm and that his arms won’t jitter off of his body.

He begrudgingly left to the pub for breakfast, and had completely ignored everyone as he took his plate and tried to take extra for his papa when he wakes up later. It would be cold, but he knew from living with him for too long that Papa simply skips breakfast if he knew that Delano ate without him. He’d forgo preparing food for himself, thus ignoring the meal entirely.

Ever since they’ve come to the pub, he had skipped breakfast for far too many times, and he only noticed it lately.

Then he swipes two tonics, from under Cecelia’s nose.

Before he could leave the pub, he was stopped by the sight of Lord Pendleton, who had been staring at him.

“What?”

The man’s eyes narrowed even further, but he sighs in disappointment.

“Now that your father has some time, would it be much of a problem to have him come to me?”

“What for?”

“None of your business, little boy,” Lord Pendleton replies, and Delano glares at him but nods anyway.

His papa does eat little, but he works on the mask.

The _mask._

Delano shivers, his only defense from such frigid coldness was the new rune that Papa has made him when they arrived here. He held it in his hands and watched from above the stairwell as his Papa used the drill to fix it.

It was terrifying, that mask. He remembers the week that Papa needed to make it, remembers the deranged and illusionary gaze he held as he walked for day and night. Delano had to force him to eat and drink during that time and he took the bare minimum before returning to the mask.

The thing had a piece of the void with it, and something more, much more. As if death itself had touched it in a way.

Delano had escaped the workshop none too soon and jumped high above the raft to reach the roof of the pub, where his new nursery resided.

He learned as of late that he didn't disappear in one spot and reappear in the next.

It wasn’t much like Mama, not like her at all. 

Delano simply _jumped._ Higher and faster than others could see, but it was only that, a jump. Mama needed to use her hands to direct herself, while Delano simply crouched then pushed himself off ground.

He takes in the flora that he was collecting and the grass slowly overtaking the surface, and leans down on it before sighing in relief as he felt the air lighten.

Whoever will wear that mask must be inhuman.

** 0o0o0 **

Piero frowns after writing down all of Lord Pendleton’s symptoms.

He has already discarded all the physical injuries, made sure to redress them, and give him some pain relievers to ease them, but the other symptoms that the man had mentioned has left him somewhat worried.

He had rarely seen anyone with such symptoms, and it had been another branch of study that he hadn’t touched, but it was eerily similar to one diagnose he had in mind. A diagnosis that his elixir usually fought, surprisingly enough. That was the only reason he even knew enough of the ailment.

After all, mental illnesses are easier to handle when the patient used his spiritual remedy. So, he had to study most of the cases when it was permitted.

“Have you went to Overseer Martin over this?” He asked carefully. Lord Pendleton’s silence was answer enough. “I see. He is a bit open-minded compared to others of his station, so he must have referred you to me.”

“He did.”

“This might sound harrowing, but understand that it is very normal to experience such things after what you went through-”

“Mention that again and I’ll have Wallace show you out,” Lord Pendleton said stubbornly, and Piero sighs.

“We have to acknowledge the-”

“The what? My moment of weakness? So you can have a laugh at me? No.”

“No! So we can address your issue. It might not even be your … situation, it could be something else entirely! It is hard to diagnose it when the patient is not cooperative.”

After a moment of silence, Lord Pendleton huffed but acquiesces.

“What do I have then?”

“You might have been experiencing Melancholia.”

After a moment of silence, Lord Pendleton choked out an “Excuse me?”

“Melancholia, overseers say that it is a period of low spirits. Usually observed after the death of close acquaintances against the typical grieving behavior, or after facing financial troubles. Known mostly for the feelings of excessive sadness or emptiness.”

“That is an illness only contradicted by _women._ ”

“No, women are simply more known for it because they are exposed to more of the causes than men and are more likely to show the symptoms whereas men tend to hide 'weaknesses'. But it can happen to a man, especially after a period of turmoil.”

“Fine,” Lord Pendleton bites out begrudgingly. “What is the cure.”

Piero looks away.

Well, what was he to say here that wouldn’t have the man end up in a fit?

“There is no cure.”

“What do you mean there is no cure?! Will I die from this?”

“No, not unless you allow your feelings of sadness to take over you to the point of- of- of self-harm. Otherwise, you’ll just live miserably for the rest of your life, and hopefully, be one of the few fortunate people that miraculously get cured of it.”

“How certain are you of this? Nothing? No cure at all?”

“Most people with your condition go to Addemire institute for a cure, and the patients there have a higher chance of receiving treatment. Otherwise …”

Lord Pendleton lets out a small strained laugh.

“If not the blockade, then my own brothers wouldn’t send me there. Having someone in the family sent to Addemire, it’s an absolute humiliation to the family.”

As far as Piero knew, it depended on which social circle you attended. Most nobles liked the idea of gallivanting in Addemire as a sort of luxury vacation. Far be it than going on a voyage to Pandyssia.

“Having daily walks under the sun helps.”

“Is that all?” Lorde Pendleton says sarcastically before waving him away. Piero felt useless the more he stayed, so he stood to leave. Wallace was right outside of the door, and Piero gives him a strained smile.

“Make sure he has my remedy twice a day, one in the morning, one before bed. He will be more prone to the cold, so arrange for him to wear heavier clothes in the future.”

“Thank you, Master Joplin.”

“Take care of both yourself and your master, Wallace.”

Once he was back in his workshop, he frowns and sits down on the table before starting an audiograph about the day.

The one other information he knew about melancholy is that artists tend to have them. They were sensitive people at heart, so it hits them harder. Either that or they were the only people with the ability to express it compared to other people with a different profession.

It made the data incomplete and inconclusive. It did not mean that artists are more prone, it just meant that they have better self-expression of emotions.

Piero paused, and grimaced, as he was reminded of Sokolov's paintings.

No wonder the man's painting felt so impersonal when compared to Delilah's. That was what was missing, the emotions associated with the painting's subject.

The man paints what he sees, not what he feels.

** 0o0o0 **

He sees the Skiff before it could reach the port, and Piero smiles at the sight of one of his few confidants in this place along with his sponsor for the current time being.

With that in mind, he starts to think of what he could do for Samuel once he gets here. He might need him to look over the Amaranth once more, not that it needed much tending to except for the normal scheduled maintenance. Samuel is very diligent when it comes to the care of his boat.

He leaves his workshop, only to be greeted by the sight of Lela running away from Delano, who was positively screeching in rage.

“Give it back!”

“No! Not until you talk to me!”

“I will not! Give it _back!_ ” Delano screamed. Piero only focused for one second before realizing that the boy was close to using his abilities, and though Overseer Martin was not around for the last few days, he does not intend to let him exhibit them.

“Delano, Lela, what is the matter with you two,” he demands firmly, and the two stopped in their place, looking ashamed to have been caught.

They both dragged themselves to him, looking dejected as they did. Piero spied a familiar toy in Lela’s hands.

“Lela …” Piero said in exasperation. “If you wanted one of your own, you could have asked me.”

“I know it’s not mine! I know, but that’s the only way I could get Delano to talk to me.”

“And why is it that you two were not talking?” He asked calmly, and they both fidget in their spots before Lela dropped her head in shame. “Is there something that has happened without my knowing?”

“It’s nothing,” Delano pipes up, raising his head and holding it high, daring anyone to call on his bluff. Unfortunately, for the little boy, Piero does not have much reservation for social conventions.

“Are you sure? It sure is nothing when your best friend had to resort to thievery to call upon your attention, is it not? And you, young lady, we will have a talk concerning such actions,” he said, turning to the girl as a reminder.

Delano kicked the dirt on the ground, most likely scuffing his shoes.

“She’s always busy!”

“Well, she does have many lessons.”

“And she doesn’t have time for me!”

“Again, Delano, she has many lessons to go through. She is going to be someone very important in the future, and she has to learn it all.”

“Of course _she’s_ important. She’s the only important person around, no one else is important! She can have all the attention she likes. Everyone comes to her when she becks and calls, it’s like no one else is around?! What about us?”

Piero squints.

Is this … jealousy?

Oh dear … by the outsider, what is he to say now?

He was not a stellar example of how a person should deal with such emotions. Of course, he acknowledged that his grudge over Anton Sokolov may stem somewhat from jealousy, but it was fueled mostly through simmering anger, of how people tended to gloss over him to go to the Tyvian man, of how he had a hand in having him expelled from the academy.

He had reasons, mostly backed by emotions, but most certainly valid.

Delano only felt … loneliness? Left behind? Did he want to join Lela in her coursework, or did he simply want someone else’s attention aside from Piero's own?

His son never really cared for any other’s attention. He only craved it from the people he felt close to. Himself, Lela, Delilah and Breanna, the coven, Sally, and Slackjaw. Otherwise, he didn’t care much about others.

Or maybe he did, maybe he tended to hide his interest away?

No, not possible, curiosity was a fixture on his son’s face, and he would know if he was interested in anything.

“Do you want the others' attention, Delano?” He asked softly as he goes down on his knees to look straight at his son’s eyes. “Or do you want something else?”

The boy doesn’t answer, his face contorting into a confused expression.

“Or maybe you … miss Lela? Miss spending time with her?”

“I wouldn’t miss her if she simply spent time with us!” Delano snapped before snapping his arms at the automaton in Lela’s hand, pushing her to the ground, and stuck his tongue at her.

"Young man!" Piero yelled.

Not a second later, Delano had run away from them, and if memory serves him right, he would go by the quay area behind the tower and workshop to spend his time alone.

"Delano, come back here this instant and apologize!" He stares dejectedly at his son's back and felt that he failed in something, whatever it was.

Then, his attention was grabbed by a soft sob, and he looks back at the girl as she had her face covered her hands, trying to hide her tears.

“Oh, no, Lela, don’t cry,” Piero panicked, hesitating in touching her and slowly reaching for the girl before deciding to the void with being proper, and pulled the girl off the ground and into a hug. Lela’s sobs became louder, and she lets go of her face as she wraps her arms around his neck, forcing him to lean down further to accommodate for her short arms.

“I’m- I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did wrong, but I’m sorry,” she cried, and he had to hush her, patting her head, before standing up as he discreetly tries to clean the dirt while she sobbed between his arms.

“Hush, Lela, none of this is your fault.”

“But he said- he said-”

“None of this is either of yours fault,” he interjects, running a hand through her hair as he turns around back to the workshop-

Where the mask was freely disposed of on the drill, sitting languidly for all to see, it’s energies just as unnerving to him as it is to anyone else.

He promptly turns back and decided to have a walk by the courtyard to overlook the river instead.

“Delano only misses you, and he does not know how to express it.”

“And I- And I miss him too, uncle Piero. I miss the both of you. But it’s always lessons this and lessons that and- and- and how I should act properly and what princesses should and should not do-” She complained.

Piero made a shushing noise as he tries to rock her, tried to ignore how truly heavy children were. He carries Whale oils tanks, true, but he does it in a short amount of time, running to his target, only to precautiously throw it at the end.

At this moment, his arms are begging to drop.

“Do you hate it?”

“Of course I hate it! I hate it! You never made me do any of these things, and it’s always fun to learn with you and Delano, and I didn’t have to learn about the names of people I never even met, or people who died a hundred years ago! Or rules and law and rules and _laws_. It’s never-ending and pointless.”

“Rules and laws are not pointless.”

“You never follow the law!” She accused, and he coughed away from her to hide his embarrassment of being caught.

“In hard times, some laws can be ignored, I suppose. But laws are usually good, and they stay good if they had a good ruler behind it.”

Lela sniffed and looked at him with wide confused eyes, the depths and darkness in them demanded more, to learn and understand.

“Only the ruler can go over the laws and say which one is fair and which one is not. You can abolish it, or add a new one. This is why you learn about them. But usually, you would have opposition from the concerned citizens regarding these laws, so you will have to talk over it with them, and that is why you must learn of your people’s name in court, to know how to talk around them.”

“But it all sounds so … roundabout.”

“It is, unfortunately, how the system works. But you, Lela, you have the chance to make things easier, to make things nice and fair for the people. Have you not seen how they lived when we were at Waterfront? When we visited Draper's ward for clothes and garments? Or the distillery? Do you think each person there had chosen to end up where they did?”

After a moment of silence, Lela sniffed before shaking her head.

“No, and no one would listen to them. But you did, did you not?”

“Y-Yes.”

“You know how it is like, personally, to not have a full meal every day, to sacrifice some things for other necessities. Not as much as others, but enough. Would you let this go on further?”

“No …”

“And I am very proud of this decision. But I do agree that this is a very daunting task, Lela. Do not think that I am dismissing your hardships. This is why you usually have confidants, people you trust. Lord Pendleton is someone you can trust, he has nothing left for him back in his home, he has no reason to teach you useless things. Between you and me, I think he’d like the city to be as it were in the past.” She giggled a bit, the tears now slowly drying. “And Callista, she only wanted you to learn so you can arm yourself in the future. Your knowledge is your weapon after all.”

“But … I miss you and Delano …”

“I as well, and so does Delano," he admits, letting a lull hang over their conversation. What is he to say here? A few weeks ago, he had both his children between his arms, taken care of despite the usual shenanigans that they faced. That ever since they came to the pub, it felt like his little family had suddenly split into three different directions. "Why not ask your two teachers to have him join you in your lesson? To see that all the attention you are receiving isn’t as interesting as he might think?” He said, winking at her conspiratorially.

Lela blinked, then giggled, before turning the giggles into a loud boisterous laugh.

“Alright, I’ll do that, I won’t sit in any lessons until they agreed.”

“There, that’s the stubborn girl I know,” he chuckled as he lets her feet touch the ground once more. She starts running to the pub, only to pause and turn around, dashing at him and throwing a hug at his midsection.

“Thank you, Uncle Piero!”

“Don’t let such misgivings rule your life, Lela,” he mumbled to her as she let go and ran back.

He smiled, feeling a bit accomplished for the day. Now all he needed was to go to Delano and make sure to-

“That was both impressive and wise of you,” a craggily rough voice comments, making him jump in his place. Looking at the direction of the sound, he could see none other than Pendleton himself … with a bunch of bottles strewn around him.

“What on- Did we not have a thorough discussion of your health a day ago?”

“What does it even matter? I’ll die from either Melancholia or Hysteria through bad choices, my time is limited, and as you said, I have _nothing_ back home waiting for me. Let me drink myself senseless.”

“That is not-”

“I am not your child,” Lord Pendleton snaps at him, throwing the bottle in his general direction and letting it smash. “Your words of comfort will not affect me. Keep them to the children and leave me be. Do you think I need such reassurances! No. Go away now, call Wallace for me.”

Piero glared at him but did turn around to leave the miserable man alone.

“I’ll accept the boy in my class, don’t worry about it,” he said softly, expecting him not to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Blink is different for each person (unless you have powers _through_ a person). So, they mostly use their hands. Delano learned to focus his direction of his jumps that way, which is why he usually points with his hand. Sometimes, when he’s emotionally not well, he’ll simply just jump, as that is his version of blink. He just jumps.
>   2. This also explains why Piero couldn’t study Delano well enough to create his door to nowhere, since his idea means a person disappears and reappears. It looks like Delano disappears and reappears at the same time, but he’s just too fast for the human eye. So, Piero continues to fail as usual.
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
>   1. Trevor has depression. In-game, his childhood, and whatever genetic defects he inherited, point out to that. This is without whatever I omitted. 
>   2. I know they use the word depression in-game, but Melancholy was used as a medical term up till the 20th century when the term turned to clinical depression. Now, melancholy is used as a subtype for depression. They used to cure it in the past by ‘having walks under the sun’ or ‘breathing fresh air in the countryside’ or change their diets.
>   3. A good example of depression in a time period similar to Dishonored is Wuthering Heights. Classic book, somehow people always have polarizing opinions about it. It’s a public domain story so you can find it online for free (got mine on the apple book app).
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> Also, did you ever live in a two children household and have them fight constantly? No? Good for you. I lived with two children and plus. Anyone needs good examples of healthy and unhealthy sibling relationships? Hit me up and I’ll help.


	26. Chapter 26

Delano had been furious, though secretly pleased by the new arrangement.

He hid it well, crossing arms and glaring daggers all day long at his new teachers, but he’d smile and perk up whenever Lela – Piero really needs to say her real name – spoke to him. Whatever dark cloud that rolled over them the past few weeks has started to slightly dissipate.

The rest of the pub, on the other hand, had been tense since the arrival of the Admiral.

They held a meeting, one far away from the children’s ears. Usually, this meeting was conducted between Admiral Havelock, Overseer Martin, and Lord Pendleton. Seeing as one of them has disappeared, and that the news will undoubtfully affect everyone, the admiral decided to have the whole pub present.

“What if he really did murder the empress?” The redhead asked, hiding a bit behind Lydia. It took Piero a moment to remember her name, and once he did, it slowly slipped away from his mind as unimportant.

“We are led to believe that he did not.”

“Aside from Lady Emily, no one else had been present during the assassination. We can’t take her words as complete proof, she could be …” Callista trailed away, and Lydia scoffed.

“She could be delusional, or she could have a wild imagination. She’s a child, Callista, you don’t have to be afraid of saying that.”

“What of your opinion, Master Joplin?” Lord Pendleton asked, turning around and giving him a sharp gaze. “Your thoughts tend to be more accurate than the rest, and Lady Emily hasbeen in your care for a while. You would know if what she said is true or not.”

When everyone’s attention turned to him, and he squirmed under the scrutiny.

“She sees the Lord Protector as her father, as far as I can tell. I’ve sent a man previously to search for her supposed father on the basis that he was Serkonan and had angered someone, not that he was the Royal Protector himself. She kept saying that someone else had killed the Empress, so I believe her words over what others say.” The Admiral nods, a look of appreciation crossing his face before returning into one solemn scowl.

No one else had anything to say to this, and the atmosphere was turning tense before Piero sighed and spoke once more.

“Whalers were spotted on the day of the empress’s death.”

“What?” Most of the people present shouted, and he winced at the loud noise. Even Lord Pendleton, who didn’t usually deign himself in such acts, gave him a befuddled expression.

“Green robes in vivisection masks, all of them jumping on rooftops leading to the palace.”

“How come we never heard any of this before?” The Admiral demands.

“Well, do you spend time in the slums, they have their eyes and ears on everything in the city?”

“And why would a Natural Philosopher willingly spend time there,” Lord Pendleton asked snidely. Piero sent him a withering glare.

“How do you think I found out about the plague in the first place?”

“Alright. Alright. So, there’s a high possibility that he’s safe. He’s still our best shot to free the empire, so we’ll have to make sure to accommodate him here, understood?” Havelock asked the servants. They all nodded in response before he dismissed them.

Piero also stood up, but Havelock gestured for him to stay behind, shooing Lord Pendleton at the same time.

“If he does escape, he’ll be back in a bad shape. How good are you at patching people?”

“Is that a trick question,” Piero replied blandly, obviously unimpressed by the Admiral’s assumption. “I worked as a physician for up to two decades, Admiral Havelock. I am plenty good. I can do emergency aid if need be, but for more delicate procedures … that will honestly take me some time.”

“Delicate procedures?”

“Surgery, Admiral. I am not a surgeon, I do not conduct surgery. I can pull bullets and sew wounds shut, or even dismember someone if their limb is eaten away to the frost, but intentionally cutting someone for a deeper problem is not of my field. I went into animal vivisection before reaching human anatomy, even though I did memorize the human body.”

“And your elixir?”

“Made by constant testing.” Mostly on himself, until Sally and Slackjaw pointed out how it worked against the sickness. Then he was able to test it on more people. “My first field of study had been chemistry and alchemy, I then went into the natural laws, then metallurgy, before ending up as a vivisection student. I’m also a good dentist.”

“That’s fine, as long you can take care of someone. You’ll have to look over him before we can determine if he is fit for future tasks.”

“I will do my best. May I have my leave?”

“One more thing, Piero,” the man coughs into his hand, looking a bit nervous. “That mask, the one you showed me a few nights ago.”

“Yes?”

Havelock stared at him for a moment before shaking his head.

“Never mind, I just wanted to see it again. Martin hated that thing the moment he laid his eyes on it.”

Piero couldn’t suppress the nervous chuckle that came out of him.

“Believe me, Admiral, I don’t think anyone likes it, myself included.”

** 0o0o0 **

“Papa,” Delano calls as he held one of his books on whale vivisection. “The method used here is different than the one you explained.”

“Ah, yes, that had been the old method, before the introduction of electricity. Back then, people killed the whales before they started cutting into them. It had been a Tyvian specialty.”

“Why Tyvia?”

“Tyvia has a cruel snowy landscape, rarely does food grows on its soil. So, the people of Tyvia replaced most of what the other isles eat with fish. The old vivisection method is essentially made to extract food, rather than materials. So, they honored the whale by giving it a mercy kill, a stab straight through that renders it dead. Only then will they extract anything from it for use.”

“What about now? You said that they kill them in factories in a perfected procedure, not as messy as it sounds like in the book.”

“Now? Well … How do I say this … Most refineries are trying to emulate the new method. I do think only Tyvia kept the traditions since it _is_ steeped in its history. Now, they keep the whale alive as they extract its oil.”

Delano made a face, one filled with revolt.

“What? That’s like- that’s like draining someone from their blood!”

“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes.”

“But- but that must be painful? Why are they doing this?”

“To have a maximum output of oil. Look at the world now, Delano. The lights on the streets run on electricity, the factory machines, the rail carts, the moving bridges, the walls of lights and arc pylons, and the speakers overhead. Sooner or later, everything will be run on electricity, and whale oil will be in higher demand. Keeping the whale alive and stimulating the parts that produce the oil is more efficient, giving us a higher production than if it were dead.”

“Isn’t there another way to make electricity?”

“If you can find an alternative starting point for the generators, I suppose.”

“The … generators?”

“Ah, I forgot that- Generators take some time to explain in detail, maybe on another day? But no that whale oil is needed because it has extra energy compared to other substances. One flick of a lighter, or a slight shove, and it can explode. It is that explosion that is used to start the generators, which in turn starts the process of creating electricity. I do hear that there is research that is trying to harness the sea currents as the starting point instead of whale oil, but the study has been negligible so far. It needs a lot of funding and people do not invest unless they have definite proof that it can work.”

“What about the sun?” Delano asked.

“What about the sun?” Piero asked, confused by the suggestion.

“You said explosion, and the sun is hot.”

“That is …” Certainly the most adorable association Piero has ever heard, even with its scientific inaccuracy. “Tell you what, why not write that down and use it as inspiration for your future studies? Unless you do not want to be a Natural Philosopher? I do not mind, of course.”

“I … want to be? A Natural Philosopher. If it means that I keep meeting interesting people all the time.”

“No- No, that is not the life of a Natural Philosopher. We simply follow a theory and try to confirm it. Meeting people is secondary.”

Delano eyes him suspiciously. It seemed that he did not believe him. “Then I’ll think of something else. Maybe I can be the new Royal Protector? That way, I can stay with Lela all the time.”

Piero gave him a non-pulsed look, which made the boy fidget in his place.

It was a good idea, but thinking of his son, who barely reached his midsection, acting as a wall between the empress and all her enemies is-

“Let us think of this another time.”

“Okay … Oh, I forgot to ask, how did they discover whale oil in the past if they only killed them for food?”

“They cooked the blubber wrong, and it ended explosively.”

** 0o0o0 **

There was a loud bang on the shutters, interrupting his focus.

He sighs in aggrievance before letting go of the chemicals he had been working on and running up to the makeshift vent to air out any excess fumes. He has to make sure that none of the lethal gasses could cross paths with any guests.

The banging continues, even louder than before.

So, he flaps his arms to make sure the air moves even faster, but to no avail.

Giving up, he decided to move a table between the chemicals and the rest of the workshop to use it as a clear barrier for any visitor. Then, he runs up to the lever and opened the shutters. He felt all his energy expel as he was met face to face with none other than Callista.

Callista, who might seem pretty and elegant in her very subdued and silent way, is now glaring at him with vehemence.

“I have been working in here all day!” He said immediately as an excuse for what could have gotten her angry now.

“I need to have _words_ with you, Master Joplin.”

“Regarding what?”

“Your son’s concerning habits.”

“I see … Umm … let me get rid of my gear first,” he mumbled as he shuffles back in, removing his apron with haste and then taking off the gloves. He touched his spectacles nervously before rejoining the governess right outside of the workshop. “I apologize, I’m currently airing the building, I do not think you will enjoy spending any time inside.”

She nods, and he follows her as they step away and walked towards the tower. To his surprise, he finds a small round table with three chairs surrounding it. There were some bottles strewn about, and he instantly knew who inhabited this place.

“If this wasn’t a pub, he’d suck this place dry,” Piero comments as he pushed one of the bottles away with his foot while Callista took the cleaner option grabbing a chair and shaking the bottles off. She didn’t reply, her silence spoke of agreement, and shown disapproval of the Lord’s habits.

“Wallace wouldn’t go against Lord Pendleton’s demands,” she decided to say instead.

“What is it that my son did for you to have this meeting?”

“Did you know that he usually sneaks away food when he thinks no one is looking?” Callista asked, and Piero slowly nods.

“Yes, it’s usually to feed Winston, or to use it as soil for the nursery.”

“The nursery that found itself on the roof of the pub?” She said, her voice edging into hostility. He couldn’t help but frown at the tone, but he does nod. “Are you not worried about his safety?”

“As dubious as it sounds, Delano is very well versed in climbing high altitudes, he … uh … follows his mother’s footsteps in that regard.”

“Right. And his attitude?”

“What of his attitude?”

“I shouldn’t have even thought that this will help,” Callista mutters under her breath. “Master Piero, do you usually leave your son out of your supervision?”

“Well, he is very independent, I wouldn’t hamper him. Having him stay in one place is driving him insane as it is. He _is_ free-spirited.”

“And you just allow him to do whatever he wishes?”

“Yes?” Piero furrowed his brows, not understanding where this is going.

“Delano’s first reaction to being scolded is to yell back.”

“I wouldn’t blame him, honestly.”

“No! You should be teaching him how to avoid fights, _not start them!_ ”

“My son does not get involved in fights, nor does he start them.”

“Last night, he threw his paper at Emily, which ended up with the both of them fighting for the rest of the lesson.”

“That just sounds like they were playing,” Piero said, baffled by the turn of this conversation. “No doubt Lela must have done something similar previously.”

“There is a time and place for playing.”

“Yes, but they’re children, we shouldn’t force them to constantly study.”

“That’s funny, coming from the youngest to attend the academy of Natural Philosophy. How old were you then?”

He could feel the headache approaching.

“I was fifteen, not eleven, nor nine, which is the same exact age as our wards. Ms. Curnow, Delano and Lela need some time to be children, and although you _do_ schedule such time, kids are spontaneous. Why, when I was their age, I-”

What did he use to do at their age?

He stops, clicking his mouth shut, trying to remember that time period with worry.

He remembers his mornings, in bed, with his body wracked in constant broiling fever erupting behind his eyes. He remembers his evenings, where his mother had read to him, taught him how to write, taught him numbers, and wrote poetry as she sang under her breath.

But the days themselves were nothing more than a haze.

Well, he did remember snippets, mostly of bullying children from other districts and mean adults telling him what and what not to do.

There was that one time that he pickpocketed a man’s sack of coins, only to be caught. How did he get away from that, he wonders?

Why was everything suddenly blurry?

“I don’t enjoy constricting him because he was meant to have a better time outside in the city, but in these times, he wouldn’t be able to experience such things. “

“You’re compromising discipline.”

“No, I am not. If he does something dangerous, I do punish him for it.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

Piero sighs in frustration.

“Fine, I will have a talk with him concerning his attitude around other people. He is to act prim and proper at all times in front of others. Never show any interest or genuine smile to his friends, yes? Don’t speak unless spoken to. Act demure, never act above your station. If you see something, say nothing, it is not your place to speak against your better. If anyone of higher standing is acting nice to you, act grateful. Know that you are nothing but a slobbering dog underneath their shoes, that your place is meant to be in the slums. Is _that_ what you want me to say? Is _that_ the sort of message that you want me to teach my son?”

He takes a frustrated breath, feeling the anger slowly ebb away into heat and fuzzy visions.

“That’s not-” Callista looked horrified, her voice choked.

“That is _exactly_ what it sounds like. That is what we teach them when we say such things! This is utterly frustrating! This is why I did not want him to join you and Lord Pendleton’s class, because _Delano Joplin most certainly looks like an urchin boy_.”

“We don’t see him like that.”

“Well, stop treating him like one! He is my son, and even with my own tarnished reputation, he deserves some respect for that alone.”

They fell silent afterward, the only sound that was heard was his harsh pants. He couldn’t quite grasp what was wrong with him, but he felt a bit tired, his energy sapped away.

Once he caught his breath, he felt a bit awkward and turned his attention away to the river.

“I apologize, if that is how we came off as. We simply had our attention on Emily because-”

“I know.” Piero cuts her off, huffing. “I know. But I also know that they are both, as I keep reminding everyone, are _children_ first and foremost. Now, I apologize for how harshly I spoke, but it seems that this discussion has taken a lot out of me.”

Once he stood up, the loudspeaker boomed.

The announcement was so loud, that he could have sworn that if it was done at night, every person within the vicinity would have woken up.

_“Attention, Dunwall citizens. The assassin, Corvo, responsible for the murder of our fair Empress and the disappearance of Lady Emily, heir to the throne, has temporarily escaped state custody. Any evidence as to his whereabouts must be delivered to the City Watch at once.”_

Callista and Piero shared a look of apprehension.

Even though he knew well enough that the Royal Protector didn’t kill the empress, it was still a bit terrifying to be in the man’s presence anytime soon.

He just escaped Coldridge, for void’s sake. Given that he did receive help, it was still such an amazing feat, and that was disregarding whatever tortures he withstood and should have eroded his skills.

“They’ll be here by sundown, if the currents aren’t against them. You should- you should go to Emily and prepare her.”

“Right, yes,” Callista said, her voice quaking a bit from the nerves. “I should- should get her ready, remind her that Lord Corvo might-”

“Not be as sane? Let’s hope not, it will break her heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? I hate parent-teacher day.  
> Both Callista and Piero are trying, but they both have very different outlooks in life. Neither of them are right or wrong, they’re both are and are not.


	27. Chapter 27

“She said what?”

“She told me not to- not to rush to him.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Isn’t her your father?”

“I think.”

“You _think?_ ” Delano asked, utterly confused by her words.

“He’s the only one who’s ever been around. When I was younger, mother told me not to call him father.”

“Oh … that is terrible,” Delano muttered. He remembered back then when he couldn’t do the same, and decided that he will not accept such a concept. He runs a hand through his hair, and smiled a bit at the memory of the ritual-

The same ritual that had done something irreversible in the manor.

“I’ll still go and see him,” Lela said in determination.

“Callista told you to stay in your room,” Delano reminds her, and she pouts before giving him a look.

Not any look.

 _The_ look.

“No! No, you’ll not trick me again!”

“Please?”

“No! Last time you used that on me, Papa had me wash the dishes for a week!”

“ _Please,_ Delano. If someone told you that you can’t see your father, what would you have done?”

“Step on their toe and go see my father anyway,” Delano replied easily, then grimaced as he realized that he now _should_ help Lela. “Fine. _Fine._ I’ll help.”

Lela cheered, jumping at him and giving him a tight hug before letting go and running around her room. He rolls his eyes as she grabbed her comb and starts to straighten her hair, which Callista recently cut after Emily had asked her, making the task much shorter than it used to be.

Gone were the constant complaints of her tips curling inwardly.

After some rummaging, Lela produced a white hair bow. The same one he had only seen her wore once when they were at the golden cat.

“Yuck, that looks dreadful.”

“It’s pretty.”

“Flowers are pretty, not that. That just adds to the …” Delano waved at her, unable to pick a word.

“You just pointed at all of me.”

“Yes, that. It just adds to the you.”

“That makes no sense- Delano, look! Look, look, look!” She suddenly demands, pointed outside the window. Delano grumbles as he climbs up the desk, as Lela had overtaken the lower part. He narrowed his eyes at the distance, grumbling even more at how difficult it was to see in the distance, and managed to finally see a moving … boat!

“Oh.”

“He’s here!”

He wasn't quite sure who was here, he could barely see Samuel, but the other figure was dark against Samuel's pale clothes.

“Well, you can’t go out now, they’ll see us, then _I’ll_ get into trouble.”

“We can’t go through the rails, someone will hear us, and we can’t climb down the workshop, or Uncle Piero will hear us.”

“As if,” Delano scoffed. His Papa was fixing that mask once again, and whenever he touched that thing, his attention is all but absorbed in it, ignoring everyone else. “He’ll never hear us with the drill on. Come on, I’ll help you down the rails.”

Lela ran to the door, grabbing the handle and pushing it down, ready to put all her weight on the door with Delano right behind her.

They both slammed right into the unmoving object.

“No! Callista must have locked it,” Lela wailed.

“Well, she is rather clever,” Delano says grudgingly, rubbing his nose. The impact _hurt._ “Let’s try the other door, I can just hold you and jump.”

“Brilliant!”

It wasn’t as if Callista had any reason to close the second door, which gave them a view of the rocky beach below once it was opened. Lela was giddy the moment Delano held her hands, and he jumped without thought, feeling the light feather touches of the air as they slowly descended.

Once their feet touched the ground, Lela jumped in her spot, clapping.

“I wish I could do that, it’s so fun.”

“Sorry, I don’t think anyone can. I have to ask my friend about it.” Delano said, running his hand through his hair again. It _had_ been a while since they last spoke. He couldn’t easily find him in his dreams, not like Papa did, and Delano had a slight suspicion that his friend tended to only visit his papa most nights and nobody else.

He’d have to make a new shrine to speak to him freely once again.

“Let’s go, or we’ll be late,” Lela said, grabbing his hands as she pulled him to the climb over the rocks and reach the pub.

They couldn’t go in from the front; else everyone would stop them. They spot Samuel standing at the front, smoking as he stared at the sky, looking as if he were thinking deeply. So, they sneaked to the back door to avoid him.

The door creaked once he pushed it, and Lela shushed him. He shushed the door before in return, then slapped himself.

He was so stupid.

They could hear murmurs of a conversation happening in front of the bar, and they had to lean in just to make sure of who was there. Lela’s eyes widened just as she saw who it is.

“Corvo!”

Her yell had interrupted the conversation between Admiral Havelock, Lord Pendleton, and who’s supposed to be Lela’s father. She ran out of their hiding spot, and the Admiral had face palmed as she did.

She jumped at the haggard and tired-looking man without a care. To Delano’s complete surprise, the man picks up Lela with no trouble, twirling her in the air before hugging her tightly.

“I suppose we all have you to blame for her presence, young man?” Lord Pendleton accused just as he approached, and Delano glares at him, hating how he is always to blame for everything.

The older man shook his head and gestured for him to come closer, which he did begrudgingly. Lord Pendleton had his arms over his shoulders, waiting for the display of affection to end. It seemed that it will never do, not when Lela continues to babble while the man only had his eyes on her. They were tired and sunken and bruised with some pain hidden in their depth but so much love and adoration for Lela.

Delano tilted his head, somewhat reminded of how Papa stared at him most nights.

And he snorts.

This man is Lela’s father, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool.

“Corvo, this is Delano, he’s my friend! Best friend,” she said, pointing at him. He blinked, pointing at himself, and Lord Pendleton hesitantly pushed him towards the two. Lela immediately held his hands just as the man puts her down.

“As I said, Lord Protector, the situation in which we found Lady Emily is precarious at best.”

“A coincidence, to be honest. You’ll have to thank Piero for it, it’s this boy’s father,” the Admiral said, patting his head. He fidgeted, feeling uncomfortable by the touches, _especially_ from the Admiral, what with how he constantly hovered over his Papa and constantly touched his inventions. “He’s the man who built the weapons you used to escape, and will continue to craft your gear in the future. You should introduce yourself to him. Delano, if you could?”

“He’s working.”

“He’s always working,” the Admiral replied.

“He doesn’t like being interrupted,” Delano retorts.

“Funny, he never mentioned,” the Admiral said, looking surprised.

“Of course, he wouldn’t mention it to _you._ You only like talking about the weapons, you didn’t even sign off for powdered crystal! He needs that to fix his spectacles.”

“He should have said so, I thought it was for one of his unnecessary experiments. How did you even know of that?”

“He complained, all morning!”

“Delano, for the void’s sake, just take him to your father,” Lord Pendleton snapped, and he grumbled as he stomps away from his hold.

He did not hear any footsteps, but could somehow feel the man following him. It didn’t help that Lela kept talking constantly with no one replying to her. If he didn’t know, he would have thought that she was talking to herself.

Once at the workshop, he sees his father, _still_ working on that horrid mask.

“Uncle Piero!” Lela yelled, and Papa only took his eye off the mask for one second before returning his attention to it.

“Hello, everyone. Apologies, but this must be done at this moment.”

“Papa, it’s Lela’s father,” Delano said.

“Oh, greetings," Papa said, frowning for a bit, never landing his eyes at them. "I’ll be crafting you weapons and gears. All costume work. For you, I will create the tool of a master assassin,” Delano frowned noticing the slip of his father’s words. He hasn’t spoken like that in ages, not since they last saw Aunt Sally.

That’s when the machines suddenly stopped, and smoke escaped from the top.

“No! No, no, no! This cannot happen now!”

He immediately sends a look to Lela, and they both thought of the Whale Oil tank at the same thing, he was sure of it.

“Delano, Lela, please leave the workshop and pull the shutter lever as you do. Lord Corvo, if you may, please fetch a tank oil from upstairs, this is highly delicate and I cannot let go until this part is screwed in tightly.”

“Can’t we stay?” Lela asked.

“No, you both know perfectly well that neither of you should be in here while I work. Please, this is for everyone’s safety.”

“It’s only a mask,” Lela countered, and Papa suddenly paused, then gave them a long and uncomfortable stare, made all the more unnerving since this is the first time he actually looked at anyone today.

“Lela, I am very disappointed in hearing that you are going to _ignore_ the _safety rules_ of the lab.”

This effectively made her slump on the mysterious man’s shoulder. Said man had slowly put her down on the floor as she dragged herself out of the workshop. Delano hesitatingly followed her, but not before pulling the lever and running just as the shutters started to descend.

** 0o0o0 **

Once the children were out, and the lord protector brought the tank oil, he managed to finally be done with the final touches.

“Thank you, Corvo,” he sighs in relief as the drill does its job. “A mask fit for an assassin. You’re a wanted man, so everyone in the city knows your face. Covering your hair with tar and your face with a scarf will be redundant. Believe me, I’ve tried.” He chuckled as he pulled the mask away from the machine.

He turns around and proudly displays it to the-

Huh, this is the first time he actually sees him. Strange, didn’t he already meet him a few minutes ago?

The royal protector turns the mask. He stares at the lenses as if sensing whatever terrible feeling everyone had been subconsciously turning away from for the last few days.

“This mask will mean terror to your enemies,” he declared before taking it off his hand and slipped it on his face. “If you can stay still, this has to be a perfect fit. Now, let me know once you can see correctly,” he told him as he pulled out his screwdriver and starts bolting in the lenses.

The man was stiff, most probably unused to people standing so close to him, or allowing anyone to touch him at all. But Piero just needed to-

There, that should do it.

“Of course, I can do more for you. Upgrades, more ammunition, some alteration to your gear. However, keep in mind that we are in a desperate situation. Lord Pendleton’s money does help, but most of it goes to bribe away the navy’s attention from the pub, and it is dwindling. I usually scavenge near the old district for materials to use or sell in the black market, and as strange as it sounds, Samuel does illegal runs for the city gangs and they would owe us some favor in the future. If you can find anything that could help budget-wise, please bring it back, mostly metals or precious objects.”

He lets go of the man’s face and tilted his head to judge it before deciding that-

Yes.

Yes, it fits.

It is perfect.

“Now, for the real reason I wanted the children out,” Piero announced, catching the man unaware. He shivered slightly at how reactive the lenses were, following his eye movement flawlessly, as if sharpening its gaze with him as its subject of attention. It made the mask all the more terrifying.

He had outdone himself.

The man slightly tilts his head forward before straightening, a gesture for him to continue, it seems.

“You have been in Coldridge for six months, and it most certainly did not leave you unscathed. I am to do a health inspection before declaring you fit for anything. It is your choice if you want to do it now or tomorrow after you rest.”

The man nods, and it took Piero a moment before understanding that he wants to do it now.

“Alright, uh, my cot is upstairs. I’ll pull out my medical bag, so go lay there.”

To Piero’s displeasure, counting every scar and festering injury left him nauseous. Void knows how the man survived any of the old ones, or if the prison guards did have a medical area to tend to the criminals.

The hands, however, were left alone.

“Interesting,” he said so out loud, but Corvo grunts before gesturing to one of his journals and made a signing motion with his hand.

Piero felt ill to the gills.

“Oh, so you can sign a confession? That’s a bit underhanded.” He comments blandly, not knowing what else to say. He rubs the back of his neck as he pulls away from the man. “You’ll need at least a week’s rest before you can do anything. I’ll prescribe medicines for you to fight off the infections, just let me find it within my … storage.” He gestured around them, with all his items thrown everywhere. “I’ll also give you the choice of re-amending the sewn injuries, it’s shabby work, but it can still hold. Sleep on it, I’ll have to go to buy more medical applications to conduct that operation, so take your time. Is there any other problem that concerns you?”

The man sits up and gestures to his mouth. Piero frowns before the man makes a stifled huff. He moved closer to him and opened his mouth.

Piero recoiled at the sight of a marred tongue. It wasn’t cut off, but it was certainly cut into, injuring it completely and making sure that whoever used it will suffer.

“Oh …” He breathes, unable to find any better words. “I presume that eating will be difficult. I will tell Lydia and Cecelia to make you soup with little solids, and I should probably make a numbing paste. No sense in drinking a vial that would affect your whole body and mind, just a localized paste would help.”

He gulped, still staring at the tongue.

The Royal Protector seemed grateful for the small solution that he offered, and slumped a bit on the bed.

“Right … Right, I’ll tell Admiral Havelock of your diagnoses so that he can push back any plans he has in mind. Come back tomorrow morning, or afternoon really, to get the medication. I’ll have to bother Samuel to help. Poor man, makes me feel guilty whenever I ask anything from him. Not that he says anything, he actually _enjoys_ helping people, can you believe that?” He laughed as he stood up, patting down on his pants. “Don’t stay up too late with Le- Lady Emily.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How much do you bet Delano needs glasses?  
> Just taking the time to show the little interaction between the kiddies, I'm always writing boring and dreadful adult perspectives, or in Delano's biased eyes.  
> And yay! Corvo is here!


	28. Chapter 28

Samuel, of course, does not mind ferrying him at night. It wasn’t shocking, Piero tended to always find the older man when he needed help at any time of day. Though, usually not at night.

“Admiral, I’ll have to go restock some items,” Piero said just as the man was about to go to his room.

“Are you sure about that? It’s nighttime, you’ll have to deal with curfew,” the man said, making Piero frown at the odd concern before shaking his head. They were from Dunwall, whoever listens to _curfew?_ It is a mere suggestion, not law, in the mind of a citizen.

“No matter, I know my way around. I just wanted to ask if there had been a request that I can search for.”

“Something that neither I nor Samuel couldn’t get?”

“Well,” Piero blushed, now that the admiral said it, it was rather silly of him to ask. “I suppose you are right.”

“Ease up, Piero. Callista came to me earlier complaining about how dangerous the overhead pathway is to the tower.”

“It’s not,” Piero said, feeling rather insulted. “I have bolted everything down.”

“Well, you can’t expect a lady to feel safe walking above ground without rails?”

He supposed not.

“I’ll need a soldering device then. Unfortunately, you can only find those in the academy, the Engineering corps, or a construction site.”

“Looks like I’ll have to pull someone from my contacts again,” the man said, sighing as he looks away, rubbing his chin.

“Oh! I almost forgot. Corvo will need to rest for at least a week.”

“A _week?”_

“Well, infections can usually heal in less than a week with constant applications of bio- We don’t have enough of those, that is why I am leaving tonight,” he gave up on explaining once he saw the lost look on the man’s face and had left him at that to join Samuel.

Once they reached Clavering, the man shrugs as sits down on a nearby campfire, looking far too familiar with it for a simple single visit.

Running up to bottle street, he felt relief when his eyes land on one of the gang members.

“Well, if it ain’t Master Joplin. Been a while since we last saw you.”

“Apologies, but do you still have contact for the medical supplies?”

“Dead,” the woman replies nonchalantly, making Piero groan. “But I can talk to one of Galvani’s maids to sneak some things for you? I’m meeting up with her tonight.”

“Would you? Thank you very much, this is a relief.”

“Anything for you, Master Joplin.” She winked as she pushed herself off the wall and started walking towards where Galvani is apparently living.

After a long hushed conversation between the two women, the maid succumbs to her friend’s demand and snuck him into the house through the back door.

“Don’t make a fuss, everyone’s sleeping," she warns him. "You’re lucky, I heard Dr. Galvani’s going to hire some guards for protection after that assassin escaped.”

“Is he so self-absorbed that he thinks the man who killed an empress would target him next?” Piero asked, scrunching his nose in distaste. The maid laughs silently, covering her mouth.

“Nah, he thinks the bottle street boys are trying to steal from him.”

Piero gives her a look, and she winked at him.

He couldn’t help it, he also starts laughing.

Well, Galvani was not wrong in that regard, was he? He just hasn’t thought that there could be an inside job involved.

Usually, he’d feel very guilty for stealing from a fellow Natural Philosopher. He had some of his work plagiarized if it weren’t for his own distinct markers getting copied along. He learned such a trick from the cartographer students, who usually needed to add a fake town or land marker in their map in order to catch a would-be thief.

However, needs must.

Galvani was a nice fellow; he has to admit. But the man had an odd obsession when it comes to his intellectual betters, once he does admit to it. For that, he was still held with high regard in the man’s head, but the way he usually expressed it was-

Piero shivers.

He remembers once publicly criticizing Galvani for one of his research journals, and the man replied with an invitation to discuss it personally.

“Don’t go in there, there’s a bunch of those rapid rats,” the maid warns, and Piero sneaks in a look before feeling the urge to vomit arise as he spots what could be a rotted foot. “They eat up anything that has meat on it. Saw a swarm eat a cat once.”

Having gone through his chemical stores, he ended up in the kitchen and was delighted to go through the cupboards and find some blood ox milk shelved. Sniffing it told him that they were most likely fresh, probably shelved a week ago, and wouldn’t have gone spoiled in the cold weather.

“Mind I take some of these?”

“Be my guest, it’s not like he notices when there isn’t any food until there isn’t any for him.”

“Cheers,” he told her as he pushed the bottles in a different bag, just in case the chemical vials get smashed. “You’ve been loads of help.”

“Whatever, as long as Jenny gets off my back.” The woman then stops and gave him an incredulous look. “If you can talk like that, why bother sounding fancy?”

“I bother sounding unfancy-like,” Piero grimaced. “It makes people feel at ease when I speak as if I had not been educated in the finest institute of education.”

“But you sound better talking normally, your poshness.”

“I am _not_ posh. I grew up in the rows.”

“You _what?_ Okay, now you’re just having a laugh at me. You do not act like it.”

“Do you expect me to act like one of the butchers? Or the laborers? I grew up there but I left as soon as I could. When Rothwild took over the old slaughterhouse, I hated living there. Can you imagine hearing whales die every single day? There was something wrong there and I had to leave.”

“Outsider’s eyes,” the maid whispered. “So, is it true, about slaughterhouse? It’s filled with-”

“Heretics?” Piero raised a brow before shrugging. “It depends on how you see it. When you live there, you are used to the hums of bones, the lullabies of the seas. There is no question that it exists, of course, but it is more profound near places where leviathans are slaughtered on a weekly basis.”

“And do you keep the bones there?”

“If you are mental enough. Just take the meat and get rid of the rest if you want to survive.”

The woman seemed satisfied with her newfound knowledge. There is no doubt that there would be rumors about his supposed involvement in the occult, not that it would go far. After all, it was a maid who would start it, and in Galvani’s house, and if the man still respects him, he will make sure none of this goes out.

When he leaves the house, he’s surprised that the sun was now peeking in the horizon, painting the skies in shades of pink.

Just in time.

Once he gets back into the boat, he yawns and lays down for a nap.

** 0o0o0 **

Delano was at the quay when they arrived, and he looked none too pleased.

“Where were you!” He cried, just as Piero landed on the surface. The little boy ran up to him, slamming all his weight and threatening to throw him to the waters.

“I’ve already said I had a task.”

“You could have taken me! The night was terrible, it was like he was nearby, but he _wasn’t._ ”

“… he?” Piero frowns, confused at the turn of events before realization struck. Why would … why would the outsider be around if Piero wasn’t?

“It _itched._ The whole night, I couldn’t handle it. I hated it! I tried to search for him, but he didn’t show up! And he just stayed around and out of my sights!”

Samuel, bless him, ignored their chatter and Delano's yells as he anchored the boat behind them.

“Do you … do you want me to have a word with him?” Which is quite frankly the oddest thing Piero found himself contemplating in his whole life. Yes, Piero, go speak to the creature that haunted your dreams since the day of your birth and tell him to sod off if he wasn’t willing to greet them like a normal house guest.

Dream guest?

“Yes! I mean, no! I just want that itch to stop,” Delano complained before showing him his usually covered hand. It was scratched raw, not enough to draw blood, but enough to know of how annoyingly persistent it was around his mark.

“You are in luck, I have some chemicals to conjure up for you,” he said in slight concern as he looks back then gesturing for his son to cover his hand again.

Samuel pointedly had been looking away, humming under his breath as his fingers worked with the rope, as if he were not privy to their conversations.

Reaching up to his workshop, he found that his breakfast was there, as usual. Everyone tended to leave him alone in the mornings, especially when they could hear him working. The last time someone had tried to wake him up, it left poor Lydia a bit disgruntled with him for a few days. He was not keen enough to tell anyone that he didn’t intentionally ignore them during his haze.

Let them think whatever it was, him acting rudely or treating them as if they were a mere annoyance, he will not have anyone know about his illness.

So, they simply left breakfast for him when the shutters were open.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, pushing the plates to Delano and snagging the elixir for himself. The boy gave him a look of disappointed, trying to guilt him into eating.

Which will not work, Piero had more important things to do.

“Umm, Piero?” Someone softly called, and he turns around to find … Cecelia! Right, that was her name. How does he keep forgetting? “I took the bedsheets and washed them, it stunk. I hope you don’t mind, Delano asked and said it smelled like a sewer, which I kind of agree with. So, if you need it back, it’s hung with the other clothes.”

“Oh, thank you, Cecelia. I wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t there either way.”

She blinked at him with confusion, but still gave him a comforting smile.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“None as of yet- On second thought, yes. Here, let me,” he rummages through his bag before pulling out the few glasses of milk. Cecelia had a look of shock before he handed it to her. “Go make something fancy for tonight, I think a celebration is in order, is it not? At least, for the children and Corvo.”

“Alright! Thank you, Piero. I’ll ask Lydia, she’s a better cook than me. Where did you even find these? I didn't know anyone even owned a bloodox nowadays ..."

“I rather not say, for the ease of your mind.”

** 0o0o0 **

“How is that?” He asked, and the man tries to lick the top of his mouth, grimacing a bit before nodding. It may have had a bitter taste, but it would leave him with a clearer mind than Opium. “Be glad that it isn’t a nostrum. People will buy anything if it sounded nice enough.”

Then came the unfortunate part. He sighs as he pulls out one of Sokolov’s elixirs.

He glares vehemently at it.

“Sokolov applies most of the popular antibiotics in his serum, believe it or not. Although you need constant ingestion for it to have an effect on you. That is also why I wanted to restitch your old wounds and use this to clean them and rectify any immediate concerns. You may experience a fever after this, however.” He pulled another vial, which had the man nod at it. “Take your time, I’ve already spoken to the admiral, and-”

“Corvo! Uncle Piero! Lydia and Cecelia are baking tart!” Lela screamed as she ran into the workshop, making Piero flinch at the sudden metallic tangs now echoing on the walls. Loud footsteps were heard on steel stairwells, and the next thing either of them knew, the two children had arrived.

Corvo was fast enough to throw his coat over himself, a coat Piero vaguely remembers Lydia sewing weeks ago in preparation for the man's arrival.

It hid away the bandages all too well.

“I never tried tart before,” Delano exclaimed as he jumped at him, sitting on his lap. He grins widely at the thought, and Piero smiled at him.

He does regret not being able to afford that. Although he was somewhat surprised, Delano liked spending time in that bakery where Sally used to take him.

He wonders at times if the old Mrs. McAllistar, who owned the bakery, is alright?

“It’s pie, but without the top crust.”

“Have you ever tried either of those?”

“Honestly, no. The only sweets I ever tried was black pudding.”

Corvo snorts, which was the loudest sound he had ever produced since his arrival. Lela gave the man a confused look, even as Corvo continued to cough while trying to stop his budding laughter. It was both amusing and painful to watch.

“Don’t swallow the salve,” Piero warns him before looking back at the two. “Just so you know, black pudding is mainly made out of meat, it’s not sweet at all.”

“Then why is it called pudding?”

“Ask Callista. She might be the best linguistic in this whole district.”

This time, it was Delano who snorts before resting his head on his chest and mumbled softly, “You read ancient runes.”

Corvo finally managed to stop laughing. He reached for his journal before stopping and giving him a questioning look.

“You can use it for now, I’ll have to produce another notebook for you, I still need that one,” it has all his current research notes after all, and he was very close to reaching a breakthrough concerning the River Krust acids.

The man starts writing, and then passed the journal back to him. Piero squints at the slightly shaky handwriting.

_“Why do you call her Lela?”_

“Oh! Um, funny thing is- Uh … You should ask Lady Emily.”

“Ask me what?” Lela asked curiously, and she stood on the tip of her toes so she could see the page. “It’s because I told them my name’s Lela.”

Corvo tilts his head in question.

“Umm, I didn’t trust them at that time,” was all Lela said. Piero watched in fascination as the two seemed to communicate easily without the man even uttering a word. “Delano found me! I told you that, remember? Well, he found me in the Golden cat-”

Corvo’s face twisted at the fact.

“And then we ran through the rooftops to escape. No one believed me when I said I’m Emily at the golden cat, so I decided to use my other name.”

“Papa, can I have another name?” Delano suddenly asked.

“Middle names are usually given to nobility.”

“Oh, then ... we can’t?”

“I suppose," Piero hummed in thought. "It’s a normal practice in Serkonos to give more than one middle name, even among commoners."

Corvo gave him a confused look.

“I’m half Serkonan, but I look like my mother,” he explained. He then paused and laughed. “It is amazing how many times I kept mentioning that. Whenever someone asked about Lela, I said she was my niece, and they believed it because, well,” he gestures at her.

“You- the both of you! What’s the deal with pointing at all of me?!” Lela yelled at him, huffing indignantly as she crossed her arms and glared at Delano.

“It’s a tad bit ridiculous how people turn blind once they think you’re not from Gristol,” Piero said, deciding to ignore whatever other row that two had this time. Corvo nods, his eyes radiating bitterness. Piero winced, understanding his reaction. “Now, up, you two. I think I smell something nice in the kitchen.”

“Tarts,” the two children said immediately as they turned to each other, and Delano climbed off of him just as Lela ran to the stairs in an undeclared race. Neither of them even thought that the kitchens were too far away for him to smell anything.

“No running at the stairs! Why do I even bother,” he mumbled as he stood. Piero turns around to say something to Corvo-

Only to freeze at the sight of the man's back palm as it flits away over the page, writing another sentence.

A name, scrawled in deep inks and marked with a hint of power-

How did he not see it before?

He takes a deep breath before giving the man a painful smile.

“Corvo, might I suggest gloves?”

The man stopped, also surprised at being caught. He looks upwards and directly at his eyes, _judging_ him. Most likely deciding if threatening Piero to keep the mark on his hand a secret or not. Piero’s eyes didn’t waver, he kept staring back coolly.

“I am working on makeup to hide it better. Although, the color I was going with is a tad bit lighter than your skin tone, so forgive me if it will take some time for you to use it.”

An eternity later, one filled with the sound of his heart beating loudly, the man slowly nods. Then stood up and grabbed one of Piero’s misplaced gloves from the table as he left the room.

Piero exhales loudly.

He is having _words_ with the dream walker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Galvani is a fanboy for smart people. Just a headcanon, but the way he talked about Anton Sokolov just makes you wonder. He was too respectful. So, Galvani just goes full fanboy on people who are proven to be smarter than him. He’s narcissistic otherwise.
>   2. It’s weird how Natural Philosophers in the game are either seen as idols or monsters. Thinking about it for a while, I realized … Bill Nye? Most of the educative channels on YouTube? Elon Musk? _Iron man._ I can kind of understand why they’re considered rock stars in-game.
>   3. I do have a middle name for Delano, I mentioned it before in the earlier chapters.
> 

> 
> Personally, I feel very proud with the maid part and the part where Lilly and Delano barge in the two adults.


	29. Chapter 29

Havelock has not been at ease for a while, even with their successful retrieval of Corvo. 

Overseer Martin’s presence, however, would explain such restlessness.

Or the lack of it.

Even Lord Pendleton, who usually was sharp-tongued and scathing in his interaction has now demurred. The ever-presence of Melancholia weighed heavily on both the Lord and Piero’s mind, the former from being subjected to such a terrible thing, and for himself because it left him frustrated not knowing how to heal the ailment.

Despite all his great intellect, Piero could never solve any illness concerning the mind.

Corvo was slowly becoming Piero’s new … colleague in this slightly lonely environment, despite how terrified he felt of him.

The daily administration of medicine helped in that regard, and he did start explaining to him what each weapon did. The man seemed to understand the concepts instantly, and all that was left was to take him to the courtyard for him to actually try them. He did have a purview of sorts while escaping prison, so it wasn’t all that hard to explain.

Then, there was Lela and Delano.

“I am meant to discourage her from calling me uncle,” he told him as he pricks his skin with the first needle. The man winced so subtly, that Piero could have imagined it as one of his fevered hallucinations. “Sorry, do you want to drink more of the plant alkaloid before we continue?”

Corvo shook his head.

“It’s a fascinating thing, isn’t it? It took me a while, but I managed to extract it from river krusts. At first, I thought it was from the acid themselves, and I’m still sure that there is something hidden in there, but I’ve studied the other parts and managed to find something resembling opium. Which is very fortunate for us, especially with the trade routes being closed. There is no way to get more from Wei-Ghon, but I do think that Delilah had some of the flowers growing in her manor. I should have taken some samples.”

The man moved his head a bit in confusion.

“Delilah is Delano’s mother. She is still alive, if you are wondering. It is just that … we had some disagreements," he grimaced in remembrance. "None of that, let us not focus on such dreadful things. I was speaking about … Oh, yes. I have no idea how to tell her not to call me uncle. Back then, I did not know of her true identity, and it was much easier to pretend that we are family. She does look like Delano somewhat.”

Corvo made a face, apparently having noticed and agreeing with his assessment.

“Lord Pendleton is cross with me for it. Never mind that we never saw eye to eye since the first day we met. He should be grateful to me,” Piero huffs, squinting a bit at his needlework before continuing. His eyes were straining. “My remedy is keeping him afloat after all. Imagine if he had access to the wine cellar?”

Corvo made a sudden noise at the back of his throat, his arm slamming the mattress he laid on harshly. Piero didn’t flinch this time around, rather used to such reactions coming from his patients, even more so from the violent ones. He usually left such appointments with a bruise or two when his patients were on the younger side and had less experience with pain.

“We are almost done, do not worry.”

To his bemusement, Corvo does not show any signs of pain once they finished. He sat upright and saw to his newly stitched wound before nodding and reaching for his coat.

This is the Royal Protector, Piero thought idly as the man stood. Showing any discomfort and pain must not have been permitted.

** 0o0o0 **

Havelock was drinking ... at noon.

He usually started in the early evening, not so early in the day. He took a corner booth to himself and finished his glass without much inhabitation, and no one was willing to stand between the man and his drink.

“Did something happen? Something that would concern us?”

“No, no. I found out what happened to Overseer Martin. Some of the men in the watch liked to gossip, and …” Havelock didn’t say anything as he took another swig. “Someone _caught_ him. Can you believe that? _Martin._ He’s a weasel! How could he …”

Piero gave him a pitying look before sliding himself on the seat in front of him.

“I am sure that he will be able to escape.”

“No, not this time.”

“What was he doing before getting caught?”

“He was trying to find High Overseer Campbell’s blackmail material. He said he found a lead, Campbell usually carried with him a black book whenever he went into meetings, and always manages to win a sort of deal afterward.”

“It would have weakened his disposition. Mayhap, he extorted his way into his current title?”

“Indeed, it seems so.”

“That is troubling, but it does make sense that a man like him would be in control of the Overseers, what with their sudden turn to violence …”

The door opened to the bar, and both Wallace and Cecelia came in with brooms in hand. Cecelia looked downtrodden, an expression exclusively worn by her, usually because of a reprimanding by Wallace or exasperation by Lydia.

“Admiral Havelock, Master Joplin, lunch is to be ready in an hour,” Wallace said once he noticed them.

“Don’t mind us, we’re having a discussion. If you two could leave us be for a moment,” Admiral insinuated, and the two nod before leaving to the kitchens. He then turns back to him to continue the conversation. “Martin theorized in the past that the book could have held information on Lady Emily’s whereabouts. It could have held other information that could help our cause.”

They didn’t speak for a while, Piero simply watched as the man took it upon himself to finish his bottle.

“Tell Corvo to find them then,” he told the man, frowning at him. “That is his mission, to aid us and do anything to put Lady Emily back on the throne?”

“Piero … you’re a genius.”

“I fail to see how you initially missed that,” he muttered under his breath. Then stood up and patted down his clothes, he planned on going to the kitchens to take his food and then go back to the workshop like he usually did.

“Why don’t you join the meal with us for once?”

“Oh, no, I have too many chemicals to leave it unattended for too long.”

“Is that your research for the cure? You also managed to make a substitute for opium,” he muttered the last part worriedly.

“Of sorts. I used to make more progress when I had access to some patients, studying their blood helped a lot in understanding the disease. But what are we to do? Maybe I can leave one day in the near future to visit Rudshore? I will probably only find corpses, but it is better than nothing.”

They fell into silence once more, and Havelock coughs before speaking with a monotonous voice, clearly used to hide whatever emotions built up underneath it. “I spoke to an old colleague of mine in the Navy. He’s still working on the blockade near the academy.”

“Alright?” Piero said in slight confusion, what had brought this up?

“The academy’s on the shore, as you know, so they have an easier access to ships as they usually receive direct shipments instead of reaching a port.”

“Yes, the academy has its own port. Some items are too dangerous to be handled by normal dock workers. They hired people and specifically trained them on how to handle them.”

“Well, sometimes the ships get bored and do surprise inspections on any ship that they considered is on the city’s sea mass. I asked him to nick some stuff. Crystal dust?”

Piero’s mind went blank. He sat down once more to catch up on what the admiral just said.

“Crystal dust! I thought that they were too expensive.”

“Too hard to find, all your other things are easier to find. But Crystal dust is a bit rare. We don’t have glassmakers here.”

“We do, how do you think bottles are made?” Piero interrupts, and the admiral coughs into his hand. “Oh, _thank you,_ Admiral. I have been searching for a while.”

“I still don’t understand the sparrow feathers, get someone to hunt birds for you. Better yet, shoot them yourself.”

“No, it _has_ to be sparrow feathers. The average weight of the feather fits with the bolt’s trajectory. Not to mention how its elasticity allows it for a certain curvature against winds. That way, you can aim in a slightly off direction to let it bend in a calculated pathway instead of aiming directly at the object and having it slammed out of the way-”

“Why in the void do you know the average weight of a sparrow feather?” The admiral cuts him off once he managed to find an opening to speak.

He sounded confused, looked like it too.

“Delilah asked me to weigh them.”

“Who’s Delilah?”

“My-” He cuts himself off immediately, grimacing at what he was about to say. Not in a million years will he get caught saying those. He might have liked her as a friend, at most, but with the way she had handled Delano’s ritual …

“Your?” The admiral asked, and Piero huffed in agitation.

“Delano’s mother,” he answered. The man gave him a look of disbelief, as if he never thought that Delano could have a mother at all. Neither of them could quite ignore the splutter heard in the kitchen, or the sound of a plate dropping on the floor with a loud clang.

“I didn’t realize that- err- This is unprecedented, none of us are married or in a relationship at the current moment, so I presumed that- I apologize, Piero. Do you want to leave the premises to visit her?”

“No.”

“… Excuse me?”

“No. I will not leave to visit her. It seems that you are mistaken, Admiral. She is Delano’s mother, but she is _not_ my partner. The last time we had been together, she _broke_ the- well, house. She broke the house, or it was Delano, but she encouraged him to do it! How does a person even plan to- I enjoy spending time with Breanna more than her! Breanna! We fight every chance we meet!”

The admiral stared with wide eyes and slight confusion.

“She used a slug I was studying as a solidifying agent for her pigment. She painted _me_ while I was _asleep?!_ Do you know how disturbing that is?!” he adds, grumbling under his breath. “And Delano likes her more than me! What do I lack that he would rather spend time with her than me? Is it that I cannot paint? Is that it? I can learn!”

“Children will always prefer their mother- tell you what, how about we go to my room so we can get the crystal dust and you can start working on whatever you need it for. Maybe tell me about your experiments?” The admiral suggested, and Piero had to swallow a growl before nodding and standing up with him. The man had a strained smile on him as he led him upstairs.

On the way, Cecelia didn’t look at him in the eye, not that it wasn’t unusual for her to do so. What confused him was Wallace’s sudden departure from his sight.

** 0o0o0 **

The laughter was ever-present. It came from all directions, from both above and below him. It all belonged to one creature, and it did not stop, not since he arrived, and most likely not until he leaves.

Piero had walked for so long trying to escape the sounds, that he was willing to jump over to the rocky terrain and drown himself in the nothingness below.

A well worthy sacrifice for his inner peace of mind.

“Do you enjoy the slug’s companionship more than hers?”

“Won’t you?” He snaps back, and the man laughs, his ever-darkened gaze slit into a closed line.

“I agree. She rather is stubborn. It is unfortunate that she had her claws over our smaller friend, else I might have enjoyed spending time with him.”

Piero stops and snarls at him.

“Either visit him like a normal house guest or leave us be! Make your appearance worthwhile at the least,” he told him, feeling all the gall that had built up in the last few weeks break the dam it was held by. The man stops, and stares at him in muted disbelief before floating down to stand next to him, or what could be considered standing.

“My, do I sense annoyance?”

“Delano complained that you made his hand itch.”

“Delano is interesting to watch, not to interact with. I thought it would appease you if I kept my distance with him,” the man hummed as he steps away, the whisps of shadows engulfing him, taking him away.

Piero stares dully at where he had last stood.

Now that he was left alone, Piero found himself sliding down on the floor, knees hitting the ground as he starts writing on the dirt. Now that he could finally think, with a clear mind and brimming thoughts, he found himself enjoying this pass time.

There wasn’t anything around him, just the barren wasteland and the floating shards of what could have been earth. When he usually had a paper to write on, he would waste his night away, hoping his conscious self would _remember_ everything he had just thought.

It never worked, but he found the joy of rediscovering everything just as fulfilling as his nights alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I should add those tiny numbers on the side so that people would know what I’m exactly referring to in the lists. I just figured out how to do the tiny numbers on top right of the end of sentences, but don’t know how to hyperlink them with the notes.
> 
>   1. I’m hinting at the fact that Piero discovered morphine. In real life, it was first discovered by isolating alkaloid from a plant. I didn’t name it cause the origin of the name morphine involved Greek mythology, and since they don’t have that in Dishonored, it’s better to keep it nameless until I actually have a good name or decide to f it and say morphine.
>   2. Wei-Ghon is like northern east of Tyvia, which is supposed to resemble Asian culture … somehow. It’s a small part of Tyvia though.
>   3. Sometimes, I make the characters very oblivious, and it’s killing _me_ more than it’s killing you. So, yeah, Piero did notice that there’s a resemblance between Emily and Delano, he just doesn’t have all the clues to connect the information.
>   4. If you’re wondering, I had these images in mind [(image 1)](https://www.artstation.com/artwork/4Xzzn) [(image 2)](https://www.artstation.com/artwork/zv8NQ) as Piero did Corvo’s stitches. He’s one of the artists that worked on Dishonored and you can see his pieces in his artstation portfolio.
>   5. The crazy uncle turned out to be the crazy divorced uncle.
> 



	30. Chapter 30

The stairways had been two, now merged into one. At the end of the journey stood a tree, and Delano found himself staring at the leaves, still and unmoving, for there was no air in where he stood, no winds to swipe your clothes or steal your hat. Yet, it was all the more colder.

“Does it please you?”

Delano’s lips split into a smile as he turns around to see his mother, and he runs down the stairs, uncaring of any snare that could snag at his feet. He jumps at the last step and landed perfectly in between her arms.

“Mama! It’s marvelous. It’s alive!”

“It is,” she said fondly as she lets him stand back on his feet. “A bit of your magic went into it, if you remember. It is the same tree that you took to rest on during daylight.”

“It is? Why did you bring it here then?”

“Why, to be closer to you, of course.”

“I miss you too, Mama.”

“And how does one usually show such feelings?” She asked him, and Delano blinks before grinning and raising his arms once again. She gives him a muted smile but kneels down to be closer to him. Delano took his chance and pressed his lips onto her cheeks, giggling once done.

She puts her hand over his hair, and pushed it away from his eyes. She gives him a sigh.

“You are lucky to resemble me. Brilliant man, your father may be, but handsome he is not. At least, the colors you received from him are striking.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Why, how else will anyone know that you are my son?” She asks him, as she stood up. Delano frowns for a moment, thinking seriously about the answer.

“Blood.”

“And how will you convince those who refuse to see nature, with all its magic?”

“You and Papa are always at odds, it leaves _me_ feeling odd. Sometimes, I feel guilty for doing this without explaining it to him.”

“Oh, no, Delano. What you have done was the most tantalizing thing I have ever experienced. And it gave us a way to communicate so easily, did it not?”

“This part of the void feels splintered,” he said softly.

“It will do for what I need. Now, won’t you join me? It has been a long time since we have spoken. What manner of events has befallen you lately?”

“Well …”

** 0o0o0 **

Callista had berated him again for doing something wrong.

He doesn’t understand for certain what he did, but he was told to stay behind and copy the sentence over one hundred times to learn his lesson.

Lela refused to leave his side, and so she stayed, even as she slowly withers with boredom.

“I don’t _understand_ ,” he complained once more.

“What’s not to understand?”

“What’s the difference between a debutante and a coming of age ceremony! For all I can tell, a debutante is just made so that rich nobles can flaunt their money and buy a girl into the family.”

Lela didn’t reply immediately as she thought over his words and slowly nods.

“You do kind of make a point … maybe we can ask Uncle Piero?”

“Papa?”

“He’s an adult, he should know these things?”

“Mama once said that he can barely understand normal day-to-day social interactions, so I doubt he’ll know anything about dances … I don’t think he can dance at all.”

“Then we can ask Lord Pendleton?” They both grimaced at the suggestion. It wasn’t a bad idea, he was a noble, so he must have been invited to one of these parties before. Yet, Delano knew full well that Lord Pendleton detested spending any more time with them than needed. “Or Corvo? Mother used to go to these parties, so he must have been there as well.”

“When will he come back? Where did he even go? Admiral Havelock wouldn’t tell me,” Delano grumbled.

“Callista said it’s to bring Overseer Martin back.”

Delano huffed.

“Why even bother? Overseers are useless.”

“Overseers carry out religious ceremonies and duties, they’re not useless.”

“They are! They most certainly are! Don’t you remember what happened before we came here? They tried to hurt us!?”

“No! It’s because of that vile woman, she tricked them into thinking we’re bad.”

“And they didn’t even have the courtesy to knock and ask like normal people? They had to kick into the flat and demand things from us? They’re nutters, skullywugs!”

“Delano Joplin! Where have you learned such language!” Callista’s voice suddenly interrupts as she came back to the dining room just as he has spoken those words, and Delano groans.

“Well, it’s true!”

“We don’t use uncouth language like that around here, what if someone like Lord Pendleton hears you?”

“Why would I care about Lord Pendleton’s opinions of me? He already doesn’t like me, and I don’t like him. Here,” he yelled, pushing the papers with the copied sentences at her. It all flew out of her hands since none of it was put in a binder of sorts.

“Delano!” Callista yelled, and Lela tried to hide her laugh as Delano got off of the chair and ran before the madwoman could catch him. She did try, but she was slow and Delano had to dodge people for his whole life. “If you don’t come back here, I’ll have a talk with your father!”

“Try! He won’t say anything!”

Later on, he found himself skipping Lord Pendleton’s lessons. It applied more to Lela than to him. Delano had no use learning of the names of the people in the council, or the places of the empire, or how to budget and focus on topics and conversations.

Delano was only Delano.

His father is a Natural Philosopher, and his mother is a Witch.

He had no place in higher society, as far as he can tell, and he was happy with that. He was happy with knowing that all the people he cares for are also happy, and he didn’t need to achieve much else to feel satisfied.

As he tends to his nursery, he thought otherwise.

He waters the snare, and talks softly to the bush with the luminescent petals. He was lucky that he had one in his pocket when they came to the pub, or else he would have lost the last thing he owned from the coven, as these flowers reminded him of the manor and its sprawling trees and nature, eating away at civilization.

“Mama wants me to follow her footsteps,” he told Winston and pulled his knees in between his arms, hugging them to his chest. “But I don’t like painting as much as I like carving. It’s the opposite for her, she loves painting more than making statues. But I have to learn and get better. She wants to do another ritual, and I like doing those with her. It needs paintings though,” he whined and let go of his leg, deciding that laying down on the rooftop was a better idea.

“Papa doesn’t like rituals, especially after last time. He isn’t against magic entirely, but he dislikes all the consequences. He likes things to have a reason, and magic doesn’t always give a reason, and it turns him mad for days as he tries to explain it away. He always blocks any suggestion that we could spend time studying it.”

Winston squeaks, and he grimaced.

“I don’t know either. I don’t know who I should listen to. I love them both so much. I can’t listen to one and ignore the other. Papa will be disappointed if I did another ritual, and Mama will be disappointed that I didn’t join her. What do you think Winston? What should I do?”

Unfortunately, Winston doesn’t have complicated human problems, Winston is mostly led through life by instinct. Things that tended to use complex thoughts were discarded, and though the mouse tries to think of a solution that would help, he gave up at the end.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t bother. This hurt my head.”

Once he finished tending to his garden, he jumps off the rooftop, letting the air slowly descend him to the side of the pub. His feet touched the floor with no sound to announce him, and he managed to find himself right outside the sleeping quarters, where all the servants sat to talk.

“He’s rude, and Piero doesn’t do anything to teach him any discipline,” Callista’s voice can be heard, indignant and angry and somehow it made his stomach curl.

“He’s just a boy, Callista. Boys tend to be ruder than girls,” Lydia said without much care.

“Everyone in the pub already had a talk with him, and he still didn’t learn an ounce of politeness!”

“I don’t blame him,” a soft voice interjects. “Sometimes, when I’m sweeping, I can hear Delano and Lady Emily talk. He thinks that no one likes him. He’d rather be with his mother than here.”

“Then why doesn’t Joplin do that already? It’s not like he’s equipped to take care of himself, nonetheless a child! Void knows how they both survived for this long.”

Delano huffs and jumps on the side to land on the ground, then checked if anyone had seen him. He grins as he runs to the workshop, and silently cheered once he noticed that it was empty.

Papa must be off gathering ingredients somewhere.

He rummages through the armory, as everyone started to call the chest, and managed to pull two small daggers. Mama had tried to teach him to shoot shadows at objects, but with no success. It seemed that Delano didn’t have that skill, so he had to make up his own fighting style.

Mama had approved of how he sliced or nicked an enemy before using their blood against them.

They’ve experimented many times on a hound that she wanted to turn into one of her own, dead and stripped out of its flesh and meat to leave a skull behind.

He is yet to use it on a human.

Knowing full well that Papa wouldn’t approve of it, he kept the practice hidden, usually taking the time on the rooftop to train. It had become difficult without any of the other girls to help teach him what to do, but he had been repeating all the older tricks that they did manage to give him.

He goes to one of the empty alleyways, where he knew he’ll be hidden from the pub’s sight, and starts thrusting at the air as he giggles.

** 0o0o0 **

It had been a while since he started, but he stopped once he heard a few claps.

He felt surprised, this place was rarely frequented.

Turning around, he finds none other than Overseer Martin … and he looked terrible.

“Fascinating. How come the son knows how to wield a sword better than the father?” The man asks, genuinely curious in that way that told him he wasn’t willing to admit to it. Delano pouts for a moment before sighing.

“Mama, my Aunt, and her friends taught me how to fight.”

“And your father was too prideful to learn from women? Or too ashamed that his wife knows how and he doesn’t?”

“Neither, he just likes making the weapons, not using them.”

Overseer Martin snorts. “like a toymaker, making toys for others and not himself.”

Arguably. Delano has learned that most people do see their weapons as toys. Papa used to complain constantly about how little care they gave their swords and pistols. The state of disrepair he usually receives some of them to repair had him complain for hours as he worked.

At that time, Delano had no idea why it mattered that they needed to take care of the weapons, couldn’t they get more later? Make another?

Uncle Slackjaw taught him otherwise.

A weapon is a limb, and those who misuse it deserve to lose a real limb over it.

“Will you accompany me to the pub? I have had an ordeal, and would like to see your father.”

“He’s not there …”

“Yes, he tends to submerge himself into the river at this time, if I recall.”

Delano blinked.

“What?”

“I see him resurface with plants or some sort of ingredients. I only saw him enter the sewer once. The path a man crosses to further their obsession, I presume. Not that I can say much when I’ve done worse,” he told him as they walked back to the pub.

To their luck, his Papa was there, and as Overseer Martin had said, he had been muttering over a combustion accident.

Which was ab odd incident to experience, to begin with, the ingredients are mostly plant-based. Maybe Papa had some things hidden from his sight? Not that he could hide it for long, not if he truly looked with his other eyes, letting the world awash in darkness with only a few little glowing things in its path. He can smell curiosity and interest, he can sniff any hidden things.

“Overseer Martin? Since when- Oh! Corvo had found you. You seem out of sorts.”

“I’ve been held captive in stocks for the better part of two nights,” Overseer Martin said blandly. Papa’s eyes widened, and Delano tugged at his trousers.

“What does stocks mean?”

“It’s a sort of punishment, rigged carpentry that has your hands and neck incapacitated. Usually, you would spend nights in public as a sort of humiliation, or if someone was particularly cruel, they would whip you while you are in it,” he explained as he took Overseer Martin’s hands, checking on his wrist.

“Why don’t they end it immediately?” He asked, feeling a bit disgusted at the description.

“Well, people can be rather cruel.”

“By the Void,” Overseer Martin muttered, looking away from them. He winced when Papa pressed on a spot before letting go and reaching for Overseer Martin’s neck. “You can’t just describe things like that to a boy.”

“I’ve already seen people die, this isn’t new,” Delano pouted, crossing his arms, and ignored the man. “It’s called a public execution.”

“I remember when I witnessed my first execution,” Papa told him, and Delano’s attention turns to him instantly. “It had been the only form of entertainment at that time, believe it or not. I was a bit older than you, however. Twelve. Your Aunt Sally had dragged me to it, she mocked me for never having seen one before. They had the men hanged by the neck.”

“The first time I’ve seen mine had been through a beheading,” Overseer Martin adds.

“That’s popular in Morley,” Papa said, and Overseer Martin grins for a moment before letting it disappear. “Fortunately, I already have a bruising paste strong enough for this. It will numb the pain and heat the skin to encourage blood flow into them. So, if you have a strange slight burning sensation, this is why.”

“Why do you have a bruising paste?”

“What sort of question is that?” Papa retorts, giving Overseer Martin a look that screamed moron at him. “Every person I know either gets shot or sports a bruise over their eye.”

“Papa uses it because he’s clumsy when he wakes up.”

“I do not,” Papa denies instantly.

“You fell from the couch once.”

“Alright, so I may be a bit clumsy.”

_“May?”_

“Don’t give me cheek.”

“One day, I’ll be the Natural Philosopher who captures your shadow in an image and have it canvased for all to see, a perfect replica of the real world, like a silver of reality. And I will take the first few moments of you getting off of bed for pros- pros- prosperity!”

Papa’s eyes turned bright as he messed with his hair.

“Then I hope to see that soon." He then takes a deep breath before using his whimsical voice, "Delano Willard Joplin, Natural Philosopher.”

Delano gave him a surprised look, hearing that new name for the first time. He did not know what to think of it, Willard? Wasn’t that … papa’s grandfather’s name? His papa looks back at their guest, and Delano missed the opportunity to ask. “Overseer Martin, go upstairs, sit on the bed and take off your trousers.”

“But Master Joplin, you haven’t even given me a single flower,” Overseer Martin said with a wide leering grin. Papa frowned at him for a moment before turning red. Delano looked at them in confusion for a moment.

There weren’t many flowers to pick around in the first place, not unless they went to his nursery.

“Papa, do you need a flower?” He asked, and Papa gave him a wide-eyed look.

“Now that’s a thought," the other man says. "He’s right, _you_ are the one who’s meant to receive them,” Overseer Martin beams.

“No, it’s the thought that counts,” Papa cuts the Overseer off, glaring at the man before looking back at him with the smile he was used to. “Now be a dear and go help … Wallace? He must be sweeping something, poor man cannot handle a speck of dirt in his eyesight. Overseer Martin would like to keep some of his dignity as I _check on his knees._ ”

“Ah, they’re scabbed raw by this point, but I’m glad that you’ll be helping me in this endeavor, especially if I watch you rest on yours, Master Joplin.”

“Must you be so foulmouthed!” Papa snaps, the Overseer only winks at him.

Delano scowls. He doesn’t like the Overseer’s attitude, not that he liked any overseers in the first place.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about ... unless you had your mind in the gutter? Not that I’m surprised, you should get rid of your evidence faster,” Overseer Martin continues, acting peevish as he grins at his father.

“Delano, please leave, I’ll have to attend to him,” Papa sighs as he lightly pushed him on the back. Delano protested, before angrily growling at the overseer and stomping his way out. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t trust that man!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delano’s everyday struggles as the perceived naughty boy. He’s just not having any luck around here.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Funny enough, someone already guessed that Delano looks like Delilah. Yeah, I've been trying to hint at it for a while. Delano's a male version of Delilah, but his hair's curlier, his eyebrow's bushier, and his eyes are a slightly different shape and are actually weak. He'll slightly change as he grows older to resemble both parents once he's an adult instead of being a copy of one (I'm not into the whole copy-paste-from-parents thing.)  
> This growth pattern is based on my little brother, who looked more like my mom as a kid but then grew up, lost his baby fat, gained muscle mass, so he looks like my father now.
> 
> * * *
> 
>   1. Overseer Martin, you already have, like, the heart of every person in this pub. Control yourself, have mercy on the divorced single father with too much baggage and a stalker on his head.
>   2. Just so everyone knows, this is how Martin acts with everyone, but he’s usually a lot more subtle. But because he’s interacting with Mr. Oblivious, he had to ramp it up.
> 



	31. Chapter 31

“And with that, the putrid smell of the liver can be combined with …” Piero stops. The audiograph continues to spin, waiting for his next words, but not forever, it had so very limited space to punch the information inside it, yet it continues with no concern.

Piero stops writing entirely and felt odd as he stares ahead, feeling that something is amiss.

He then felt a hand on his shoulder, and he screamed as he throws his pen at the offending owner of said limb.

Of course, it uselessly hit Corvo right in the middle of his face.

“By the Void, Corvo! Make some noise?! Do you know how old this place is? I should have heard an echo or the stairwell creak,” he yells, before resting his back on his chair, resting a hand on his chest, and taking in a deep breath. “Oh, you are back. Welcome back.”

Corvo gives him a short nod before giving him the crossbow and the ammo pouch. He was surprised to find different bows in amidst his arsenal, he must have picked some up along the way. It may not be as fine as his own, but it was expertly made.

He picks at one of the shorter bolts, and sucks in a breath, knowing fully well that these are leftover stash from the Whalers.

“It’s silly, how we turned the mighty harpoon into such a tiny yet deadly and subtle weapon,” he commented as he rearranges them on his table. One pile for his craft, one he knew the whalers used, and the rest in a pile of itself. “What do you need, Corvo? I would have thought you would go straight to Lady Emily.”

Corvo opens his coat and takes out _blueprints_ from his inner pockets. He then reaches out for his other pockets and Piero took a serious amount of time trying to understand how the man moved with so many things on himself with ease and still hid it well from anyone’s concern?

He decides to ignore this for a moment, knowing that delving into such strange thoughts would pull him closer to sleep.

So, he takes the blueprints, and couldn’t help but laugh as he looks at the handwriting.

“It’s Griff! He almost finished the rewiring tool. Clever bastard!”

Corvo raised a brow at his exclamation, and Piero coughs in embarrassment. The man tilts his head before nodding at the blueprint. He was most likely waiting for an explanation.

“Ah, yes. You see, not everyone with skills ends up in the academy. In fact, Griff managed to land himself in prison. He was supposedly executed, if I had not made a restraining jacket for him to wear and spread the pressure of the drop all over his body instead of his neck. Oh … you are not supposed to know that … please ignore this information in the future. Either way, Griff owns a black market shop.”

Corvo nods and then points at the bows.

“I knew it was well done! You see, Griff has been having trouble moving on land. The blockade, walls of light, and that new arc pylon. He and another of his colleague started planning on how to dismantle the devices in the future. Of course, this involved a lot of people, but the project fell through. I helped in designing the reverse of the electric flow. It certainly isn’t easy. Last time I heard he angered … Slackjaw.”

He took a moment to think about it.

Maybe he should have told Slackjaw to lay off of him, the rewiring tool is an ambitious project, and if proven to be successful, it would lay bare on any of Sokolov’s devices.

“I can make it for you, but it will need a bit of work. This machine will make sure that your signature will be logged in to Sokolov’s machines, stopping them from hurting you. However, the obvious flaw of this device is that it will reset and only have your signature and no one else’s.”

Corvo grimaced, but nods anyway, telling him that he was alright with this.

“Good, good. Once it’s finished, can you take the prototype back to Griff? It had been a while since we have last spoken … years, really. You should be careful when to go in, however. His clientele is vast, and always dangerous- What happened to the High Overseer?”

Corvo blinked.

The man then leans down and picked the forgotten pen before approaching Piero and-

And started drawing on his face.

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” Piero snapped, pushing the man’s hand away. What a ridiculous act. “You are obviously exhausted, go back to the Admiral and then eat and sleep. You don’t seem to be injured," not physically at the least. "Ah, yes, the paste is in your room, I think you can apply it to yourself now?”

The former guard nods gratefully before giving him the pen back. Piero runs a hand over his face and grimaced at the ink stain left behind on his palm, and most likely half of his face.

** 0o0o0 **

“I do not know why he even bothered asking me, the notes are only squiggles in my eyes,” Piero mumbled as he gives the book back to Martin, who snorts loudly at his declaration, and sent a smug grin to someone behind him.

Turning around, he can see Havelock and Lord Pendleton speaking, Havelock’s eyes sending them a concerned look back.

“He thought it would speed up the process.”

“Unless you want someone to aid you, or you were in a rut, I abide by the rules that you must be invited in order to encroach on a person’s work and craft, not forcefully intrude in it.”

“You’re a good man, Piero. If only someone else understands this,” Martin grumbled as his eyes scanned the cipher.

“If you do need some help, I am always available,” Piero says before standing up to leave.

It had been difficult to look at the notes, not because of the cipher, but his mind had been buzzing as of late. He was not sure what exactly made it difficult to think. It did not hinder his work at all, it might have enhanced it with how much focus he gave it. Otherwise, his mind usually went numb and dull when he was away from his work.

It wasn’t the elixir supply, he had been taking it regularly since he came here, nor was it sleep deprivation, not as much as it used to.

Much to Piero’s dismay, most of his necessary substances are low in stock, and it would take a while for the new shipment to reach them. He would have to wait, just for them to securely acquire it without getting caught. Until then, he has to make do with whatever they did have around.

He certainly learned as much as he could with the local flora, as few as they were.

He didn’t take a glimpse of Delano’s nursery and would not dream to; those plants were his son’s only joy right now in life and he would be remiss if he demanded some samples from him.

So, he was only left with theory, and took most of Griff’s blueprints and started making adjustments to them. The man is creative, but he lacked a strong foundation of basic knowledge and ran with the ideas in his head with no clarification of whether they would work or not. It was still impressive how far he got with a little advice, and he knew he would have completed this if he could.

He could not help but snort at one of the blueprints which comprises entirely of the arc pylon technology. A goon must have found a discarded or inactive one and dragged it somewhere for others to disassemble it. There was no other way to receive such detailed sketches unless they stole it directly from Sokolov, which he very much doubts.

After looking at it, he couldn’t help but dissect it.

The device is inefficient, as far as he can tell. It was good since it ran on one tank alone, and for a longer period of time, but as a concept of annihilating threats in an instant? It was sorely lacking.

Sokolov had written on a published journal the objective of most his devices, and the only thing that was mildly used for its intended purposes was the wall of light. Even then, it has been twisted into a weapon of fear.

Most of the devices targeted small rodents, yet they had the capacity to turn against full-sized adult humans.

Unfortunately, after years of working with gangsters and criminals, Piero can already write down minor adjustments and suggestions as to how to improve the arc pylon.

He throws the blueprint away.

He hates how much he admired the device, how he admitted to its good points despite its flaws. There are _flaws_ , he should not like it, especially if it is made by that man!

He feels the air shift next to him, and Piero turns instantly to his side.

“Corvo? What brings you here? Do not tell me you injured yourself, it had only been one day since you came back!”

The man blinked, a look of confusion overtaking his face, a look Piero has never seen on the royal protector before. It was jarring, seeing it on such a stoic and serious man.

One would never realize how much they missed something until it was gone, and having Corvo’s steady confidence as a nonexistent concept made him feel queasy.

“Apologies for how I have acted, Corvo. I must be coming down with something. It had been a stressful few days. Did you need anything?”

“He came to check on you,” a voice answers him, and Piero frowns for a minute second before smiling.

“Oh, that is nice of you, but you need not worry.”

Corvo’s eyes are now wider than before.

“Corvo?”

“He has witnessed something no man should learn of,” a soothing voice that was reminiscent of an old friend told him, and Piero hummed in agreement. Though what he learned? He might not know, but there are many things people could do well not to grasp.

“How about I tell you about Lela’s progression? I am sure Callista gives you as many details as she could without overwhelming you, but I can tell you about what she went through before coming to the pub. Of course, I did not know her at that time, so I taught her as if she were a new apprentice. You’ll have to forgive me for that. An empress, with a scientific thought process. If society had been less progressive, they would have called her a witch.”

Piero turns around and finds a few papers, most were written in Lela’s neat handwriting.

“How convenient,” he said as he took them to show the man next to him.

Corvo was not looking at him, but he was eying something behind him suspiciously. Piero turns to see what it was, but it was only the window overlooking the courtyard. The edge of where the kennel is supposed to be is broken off, crumbling debris littered the ground, and nothing but emptiness filled the rest of the horizon.

“Strange, when did I fell asleep? Oh, this is a dream. I must go, Corvo. Sorry, again, but I have to check on someone when I am here.”

“She will not receive anyone’s presence,” the creature supplied, and he sent an irritated glare at its general direction.

“She will have to if she wants my advice. What she is attempting is a fool’s errand, but I could at least make sure of her survival.”

“Do you not worry for the children’s safety?”

Piero scoffed.

“As if she can hurt them. Delano may be young, but he is in leagues better than her when it comes to raw power. He only lacks experience, and she had made the mistake of raising him with a stubborn attitude.”

“Are you sure the stubbornness had come from her?”

“Where else would he learn it from?”

“Where else indeed,” the man said in amusement, giving him a grin that was not so much as a grin but an idea imprinted into his mind. Piero turns around, done with this conversation, and paused when he sees that Corvo still stood in his place.

“You should rest, Corvo. Do not let your mind wander here for too long, you would not like the consequences. You _have_ met me after all.”

** 0o0o0 **

“If it weren’t for the fact that we take elixirs every day for breakfast, everyone would have thought you had the plague.”

“Good thing that we do take said elixirs then,” Piero coughed, pushing the worried hands away. “Stop it, this is normal. I have not closed the shutters in the last few nights, and it’s high cold right now.”

“Both you and Trevor are awfully weak, not even the children fell ill.”

“Lord Pendleton most probably did not live a day out of his manor or the comfort of a hotel or another friend’s houses. He had come to the pub already ill and injured, and had been facing …” but Pendleton would most certainly not like anyone else knowing. “Some personal issues.”

Havelock sighs begrudgingly.

It had been a day since Overseer Martin had decoded the notebook. It is as Pendleton feared, that his brothers were involved. The fact that they had Lady Emily hostage in the golden cat had been confirmed. High Overseer Campbell had written how they had only discovered the disappearance recently and had been running around like a headless chicken.

All those posters of Lela's face now made sense. It took a while for it to get hanged, Lela had been with him for a while beforehand. The twins must have tried to hide away the fact that they lost her.

Despite everything, they still held the Pendleton chair and the alliance of many as a result. Their votes were used to help the Lord Regent, and right now, only the Lord Regent is stopping Lady Emily from taking the throne.

The man had been squandering for a while, leaving most of the people to die as he took care of his military and nobles, and not many had been endeared to him. Now that it is obvious that the man had never seriously searched for the empress, and only had started sending the watchmen and raising posters of her face once she disappeared from his hold did the people of Dunwall realize how lax he had been.

They had the people’s side if they ever needed it, but not the Aristocracy and the courts.

No, they would need to eliminate the Pendleton twins for them to gain such an advantage.

This, of course, had affected Pendleton far more than he would like to show. He had been subdued and far more scathing than usual when spoken to.

Lela had come to him at some point, asking why the man would act so mean recently. Delano did not care much, but he did care about Lela’s feelings and wellbeing so he decided to help her figure out the mystery. Callista, of course, did not say anything concerning Corvo’s missions, and Corvo used his speech impairment to avoid the topic entirely.

Piero pretended to be surprised before claiming that he would have to talk to Havelock and figure it out, which also made the children annoyed by the lack of information.

This had ultimately ended up with him discovering that he had been sick for the past few days, and that this had been the source of his disorientation.

Havelock and Samuel had roamed the seas as navy men, and an illness would cause havoc onboard a ship. Catching an ill man before a disaster is a skill no sailor could go without. Seeing as he hasn’t spoken to the older man for a while, it had been the Admiral who noticed his less than favorable predicament and insisted on him getting some rest.

After all, they can’t send their men to the field without resources to aid them.

Pendleton, however, had most likely been hit with the news so hard that it physically made him ill. Piero was not sure how to help a man go through what most likely is their trauma, he had been ignoring his own in mild success. The noble had Wallace to care for him, so there is no concern for his survivability.

The fact that the man even cared about his brothers had left him astonished.

Why would someone care for people that had most likely abused them for most of their lives?

Corvo had already left to take care of the two. They had been alternating between their family manor and the golden cat for some time, and Pendleton had given Corvo his skeleton key in case the royal protector did not find them in the bawdy- bathhouse.

“It’s for the greater good of the empire, and Treavor knows that.”

“I suppose. It is not that I do not agree with the logic, but this would impede on the environment of the pub. Go have a talk with him, or if you cannot stomach even that, send Overseer Martin to him later once it’s confirmed that the twins are disposed of.”

Not much left was said, and the admiral left him with a wish of recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Corvo, what gave you the idea that drawing something on someone’s face is good?  
> (he tried to show him that he branded the high overseer)
> 
> It’s pretty hard to write Corvo when he’s not the main character. How do others see him? At the beginning of the game, people acted a bit suspicious of him in low chaos and very fearful in high chaos. I’m doing a middle thing, leaning on the low. So, most people act wary but bemused at him, and it doesn’t help that he doesn’t talk to convey his thoughts.


	32. Chapter 32

The painting he finds in her domain was that of Delano and Delilah standing together in what could be a family portrait. Delano’s dress, however, was a bit more impeccable, polished, new, and tailored to his form.

With his features, he looked like a refined young man, one can already see his future image. Maybe Piero is seeing his future, he does not exactly know, but if it were true, Delano would look remarkably like his mother with a more masculine frame and cold colorless eyes.

On the side, he can see another painting, a canvas on an aisle that has been fixed to fit a child’s height. Piero turns around, and couldn’t help but smile at the picture.

It was the pub’s courtyard, with the workshop and the drinking establishment in the background. It was not detailed, more like an echo of a memory than an architectural masterpiece. In the middle of the courtyard are two children, most likely playing. Their faces are not visible, but their postures show happiness and laughter as they moved.

Piero winced, grabbing his head, ignoring the moving images of the children as they ran across the field.

It was only a painting.

“These paintings are not of the usual stock that I see within your gallery.”

“I was wondering if you will notice.”

“They are steeped in magic,” Piero noted, stepping closer to the painting Delilah had obviously made. “Did you try to scry Delano’s future? If so, who will kill me?”

“Do not be so dramatic,” Delilah said, seemingly impressed by his accusation. “If anything, you will be responsible for your own demise.”

He could not help but roll his eyes at her claims, but he did often wonder if his waking self would go so far. Most likely not, he was driven by the need to learn, solve, and discover new things in life. No illness or inconvenience would stop him, and he would push on until he is shoved back in order to get what he needed.

Yes, Piero will die on his quest for knowledge.

“Is this some sort of bonding time? I do not understand.”

“You can say so,” Delilah said in amusement.

“Well, I would appreciate it if it were not done in this alcove, we have had this discussion before. I do not like Delano spending time in a place that could injure him.”

“This place is as much his domain as it is mine, he can decide if he wants to spend his time here or not.”

Piero scoffed, but he could not deny it. This place is deeply sated with Delano’s touch, created by his wish and willingness. He had broken many ties in the world, forged new ones, combined ones that should have never met in the first place.

When he was born, Piero had been marked by the Void.

It seems that Delano had left the Void with a mark of his own.

“Do not let him slip, or you will regret it.”

“Else what? You will come and take revenge?”

“Give me a week, and I will come up with something.”

** 0o0o0 **

“I require Opium,” Pendleton said, and Piero eyes him critically before denying him the request. This, of course, had started a screaming match that needed an interference from Havelock himself to end.

“What did I tell you?” Piero hissed once Wallace had taken his master away. Piero received a punch to the face, which was surprisingly ineffective and only left him with a tingle rather than the normal bruising pain that prevails the numbness.

“You two started a fight.”

“He asked for a drug. Is that the man you want to help you in court! Go talk to him. Or do you want _me_ to talk to him? Because I will not hold my tongue for the sake of his feelings.”

Havelock leaves him for the task a leader should have done ages ago.

He went to the bathroom in the pub to check on his face and winced a bit at the slight tender spot under his eye. Pendleton may not have been strong, but he was skin and bones, and his hand was filled with sharp joints where bones connected and a decorative ring wrapped around his finger.

It wasn’t as terrible as some of the injuries he had in the past, but this will most likely be the first time Delano had ever seen him bandaged.

He did not bother during his concussion, not when the injury was hidden by his hair and didn’t bleed.

Now, however?

When he left, he heard the slight murmur of a hushed conversation coming from one of the rooms, it was in Lord Pendleton’s room, but the voices were not ones you would hear from two grown men, but rather a man and a boy.

His curiosity now peeked, he leans down on the door’s keyhole and tries to spy inside, feeling perturbed that he couldn’t see anything, so he decides to rest his head on it instead.

“Then she told me not to be rid of them,” the voice was young and cheerful. It was _Delano’s_ voice.

“Simply like that?”

“Yes. Mama said that I should hurt who hurt me.”

“And your father is alright with this?”

“Papa is …” there had been a pause in the conversation.

Piero gulped. He was what? What could have been so terrible of him that he couldn't answer Pendleton's question?

“Can you keep a secret?” Delano finally asked.

“If you will entrust me with one.”

“Papa doesn’t care for someone who would hurt him, or hurt me, or Lel- Lady Emily. He does try to act like a good person, but he always told me that a needs must, and if hurting someone means that you will be alright, then it’s fine.”

“That is very cynical.”

“Cyni- cynical? What does that mean?”

“It means very dark and morbid.”

“Yes, Papa has dark and morbid thoughts. Like I said, as long as we are not hurt, he doesn’t care about others. Which is why- which is why you shouldn’t be that angry with him. He cares about you enough not to give you the nasty stuff. If he didn't like you or care for you, he would have given it to you anyways and would have watched you spiral.”

Lord Pendleton didn’t reply, most likely stunned by Delano’s explanation.

Piero himself had been confused by his son’s reasoning, he did not deny Pendleton’s request because he cared for him, he- well-

So, he might care for him a little bit. He was a good ally, and he did fund this operation as best as he could, half of his resources would not exist without his money.

“That makes no sense, Delano.”

“I’ve seen Papa once drug someone close to death. The man almost choked from the lack of air, a result of his lungs losing func- functions. The drug did it. Papa claimed that the man had an allergy, but I’ve seen him help the man before with the same drug. So, what made this time different? Apparently, the man said something disturbing about Lela- Lady Emily.”

“Disturbing how?”

“He said she looked tasty.”

Both Pendleton and himself made a noise of disgust. Pendleton had been loud, and Piero had to force himself not to be heard.

Oh, he remembered that man. He did intentionally overdose him, and Slackjaw did not doubt his words when he said that the man is allergic.

His actions had double reasoning as well, not only to hide what he did, but to deny the man some pain numbers in the future since it had been a common and easily obtainable brand.

He thought he had gotten away without being noticed, but it seemed that Delano's observational skills are far more superior than he expected. It was all the more impressive to have gotten away with his inattentiveness when he was under Slackjaw's shooting pupil.

“Papa uses his drugs and chemicals much like a weapon, and he is currently coherent enough to know that he will hurt you if he gave you some.”

“It all makes sense in your head, doesn’t it?” Pendleton asked softly, and Piero couldn’t help but imagine Delano shrugging, unlikely to realize that the man had meant his words as a compliment.

He was such an observant yet oblivious child, always noticing such complex acts yet never noticing the obvious things normal people would. He wondered where he got such traits from?

“So, don’t be sad, Lord Pendleton. They hurt you, and Corvo hurt them for you. Don’t ever let them rule over you, and prove them wrong by being better, and achieving what you wanted.”

“Another tidbit of wisdom, Lady Emily said much the same thing when I spoke to her about her age and its disadvantage in court.”

“Papa taught us! He said the best revenge is to prove them wrong.”

Piero decided that he had heard enough. He felt a bit happy, knowing how the boy sees him us, but he felt a bit ashamed to have eavesdropped on his own son’s conversation. Despite this, the joy was overwhelming, even as he dipped his fingers in the paste and rubbed his bruise before covering it with far too many ribbons, wrapping it over his nose and the back of his head to hold it tightly.

He goes down to the pub just to pick up both his meal and son, only to find that Havelock and Martin had been sitting on one of the tables, whispering vehemently at whatever information they had unearthed.

“Piero, what is the percentage of success that I can run the Abby as the new High Overseer?” Martin had called for him, and Piero frowns before shrugging.

“You do know a lot of people, Martin. You will most likely find the best contenders for whatever position is available to run the place. And I predict that the public’s perception of the Abby would be higher under your command.”

“See, even Piero agrees. You’d be perfect,” Havelock tells Martin, looking chuffed.

“Is there … a change of plans?” Piero asked, confused by the sudden turn of the conversation.

“Yes,” Havelock answers instantly. “The notebook has a lot of blackmail for the people in the Abby. Seeing as there is a lack of leadership, having Martin as High Overseer can aid Lady Emily in the future. It’s better to have the leader of the Abby be supportive of the crown.”

“That is true,” Piero agreed, but he couldn’t help but notice the little frown on Martin’s brow. The little downward angle of his mouth. Overseer Martin was hardly present in the pub, and from what he understood of his personality, he was hardly present in anyone’s mind unless he was right in front of them. He liked to cause an impact and then disappear before anything could drag him down, and the High Overseer position will surely drag him and pin him down in one spot.

No more will he be free to pursue what he liked without scrutiny.

It was too late to say otherwise, and the Overseer sighs before agreeing to the plan.

“Anything to help Lady Emily, I understand.”

The two men shared a look of concern before turning back to him. He had presumed that the conversation is over, seeing as the struggle of the Abby position had been solved, but the two seemed to have a concerning matter they needed to discuss with him.

Was it another injury?

Did they need another invention?

“We found out from Campbell’s journal that the Lord Regent had been receiving financial aid from a mysterious donor he regularly courts with-”

“I have no talents for solving mysteries, especially ones concerning relationships,” Piero immediately rejects. He does not want to bother himself with more ill-gotten romances and crying lost loves or bitter endings. His own experiences had been disastrous, and he had only two so far, the latter is technically _not_ a relationship, only a forced union.

And really, if the man had been courting his financial donor, this shouldn't be a mystery at all. Courting is a public thing.

“It isn’t that. No, the only clue Campbell had of who it could have been was that it was Burrows’ very own mistress. He only knew because Burrows brought Sokolov to paint her.”

“So, most likely only Sokolov knows who the financial backer is …” Piero did not like where this is going.

“Everyone knows about your … rivalry, we were wondering if you have any information we can use to interrogate him.”

“Get him drunk and let him sleep with someone, have that someone talk throughout their intercourse. I heard he is a blabbermouth during his high moments,” Piero answered sarcastically. “Do not bother me with anything concerning Sokolov.”

“Piero, please, this is for Emily,” Havelock said, and Piero cursed the admiral with every insult he had in his mind for blatantly using Piero's feelings to his advantage.

After a tense pause from everyone, Piero grimaced and spoke.

“There are River Krust harvesters that I know who work under Kaldwin bridge. They see all the crossers, both on sea and land. Boats, rail carts, people. I can write you a letter and have you go to one of them to give you the full details of Sokolov’s usual schedule.”

Havelock sighs in relief.

“Thank you, Piero, I know how difficult this is-”

“I am doing this for Lady Emily, please do not talk to me about that man ever again,” Piero cuts him off sharply, reaching for the food tray and leaving immediately.

** 0o0o0 **

To his slight surprise, Delano had dropped some bones on his desk, looking at him with wide beseeching eyes. It had been a rather remarkable collection to find in this district, he would have needed to dive into the waters or wait upon hours for one to drift by to gather these many.

“Now, why are you collecting these when we agreed not to … gather attention to our extracurricular activities?”

“Teach me how to write.”

“You already know how,” he huffed in amusement, reaching out for his head and ruffling it. The boy pouts, a genuine interest and irritation can be seen in his expression.

“You can craft bonecharms with so much ease, and I have been trying for so long … it’s very difficult.”

“And what exactly do you want your charm to do?”

“… What?”

“The purpose? Most people want a charm for a reason. They are always useful. Sometimes, you find corrupted ones, they are made poorly, and hinders you as much as it aids you.”

“You’ll think me silly,” Delano mumbled, looking down on his feet with shame.

“No, do not be like that, you know that you can share anything with me,” Piero said, leaning down so that Delano can see him without forcing him to move. “No matter how silly it is, I will listen. I might not approve most of the time, but I will listen.”

“I … want … to summon more white rats.”

Piero blinked.

Delano’s face pinked at the sudden scrutiny, and then hid his face behind his palms.

“I knew it! You think it’s silly!”

“No, I just do not understand why?”

“They’re friendly, all the white ones are friendly.”

“Ah … and you want more ... friends?” He asked morosely, looking at Delano with sadness. Delano doesn’t say it much anymore, but he was rather lonely in the pub. There had been some people at Waterfront that he enjoyed spending time with, given that it was usually at the bakery. There were also some children in Slackjaw’s gang, though rare it might be.

Delano had always been popular, somehow. He made friends with ease and made people relax around him, and the adults do love him. Piero had the premonition to know that this has not always been the case and that it only started after they found each other all those years ago.

It had been the complete opposite for him in the hound, everyone always berated him. Mostly, it was because their focus and attention were always diverted to Lela and her own needs.

They were raising and protecting an empress after all.

But Delano, who had always received approval before, is now subdued, and Piero was slowly seeing him return to his old self, the one he had saved from the streets as a little boy.

He pulls him closer, running his hand over his back. Delano doesn’t say anything, only wrapping his thin arms around him and leaning his tiny head on his chest. Piero was assaulted by the memory of a painting, of a grown-up Delano, one with a sharp and cold gaze, eyes colorless, only tinted red from blood.

And very much alone.

That was not a future he wanted for him.

“This will not be forever, Delano,” he reassured him. “But I will teach you. Crafting bonecharms is rather easy.”

The boy huffed.

“It’s only easy for you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gave myself a sad  
> (｡•́︿•̀｡)


	33. Chapter 33

“A newly made pouch to carry more sleeping darts,” he told Corvo, giving him a bland smile. “However, may I advise you on knocking him over the head to render him unconscious instead?”

Corvo frowned, eying Piero warily before slowly nodding.

“Alright, I understand. We need his memory to find out the financial backer, and with your inability to speak for now … I suppose we do need him alive- Oh! I had forgotten, the rewiring tools. I have made some adjustments, it’s more stable than the previous designs, assured sabotaging of the enemy machinery. Kaldwin’s bridge is Anton Sokolov’s home, so it is most likely filled with more security devices than any other area. Did Havelock tell you about the harvesters?”

Corvo nods, and Piero grins as he went to his desk to pull an envelope out.

“Here, give this letter to a man named Grant. He is the first person I taught how to harvest- Yes, I taught them, do not be so surprised,” he waves away Corvo’s astonished expression. “He can give you a skiff if you needed one. I only trust Grant, however, and no one else.”

The should-be-assassin-turned-kidnapper takes the letter and hides it in his inner pockets.

“How is your tongue coming along? I did not observe any improvements as of yet, and that is concerning.” To his utter surprise, there was a choked noise, but it vaguely resembled a word. It was mangled, incomprehensible, but most certainly an attempt to communicate. Piero sighed in relief. “You are naturally silent, I should have guessed. Do not strain yourself, you might injure your throat somehow. If only we could get some honey around here, that would help. Until then, we can only rely on eggs.”

With that, the royal protector’s face showed complete disgust. Raw eggs were not a recommended diet for anyone’s taste, refined or not. But Corvo needed it to soothe his vocal cords.

Corvo left him be, Samuel was already on the skiff, waiting. The old man managed to catch his eyes and waved from his spot, and Piero waved back.

There was one last task for the day, and he left the workshop to go the pub, distributing an extra elixir for Pendleton, giving Wallace one of his alkaloid-based remedy for his joint pain, and asking everyone in the pub if they had seen Overseer Martin so he can give him his ration of paste for the week.

The man, curiously enough, does not reside in the pub itself, and no one figured out where he sleeps yet. There has been a betting pool between the residents to figure out where his bed is, and even Havelock had his name hanged in the pool.

The last thing for him to distribute was the new soap batch he had recently made in success.

“Liquid soap!” Emily yelled, and Delano had his eyes widen in disbelief. “It’s been forever since we last used it.”

“Liquid soap?” Callista asked dubiously, but everyone did gather around to see it.

“Yes, it had been a best seller with- err- Well, I was reassured by many that it is good.”

“It’s the best, Callista. You should try it, it has a strong fragrance, and it’s better than a normal bubble bath. Even if it didn’t have a lot of bubbles … it’s just nice and makes me feel clean all over.”

Delano didn’t bother to listen. Instead, he took a vial and started shaking it like he usually does with a new batch, watching small bubbles form inside with no hope of escaping. He giggled before doing it again with another vial.

“Delano,” Piero warns but decided to let it go when he saw Delano’s slightly embarrassed face after being caught.

“Can I take some to Mama?” His son asked, causing everyone to suddenly fall silent. Piero blinked, surprised by the sudden request.

“I- I can imagine her delight,” Piero mumbled, giving Delano a tight smile. “Tell you what, once Samuel and Corvo come back, you can ask Samuel to take you there.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“But you don’t like it when I mention her! What changed this time?”

“Delano, might we have this conversation in private?”

“But- but this doesn’t make sense! Mama broke the manor! And you didn’t like what she was doing there, and-”

“Manor?” Cecelia asked in confusion, and Piero ran a hand over his face.

“Delano, in private,” he reaffirms, shutting the boy up with a loud click of his mouth. “And I know you wanted to join the art project you two had.”

“Huh?” Delano carelessly voiced, before a figurative idea blinked into existence like the lampposts in the streets. “Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Delano cheered as he ran outside.

Everyone else had given them a confused look, and Piero forced himself to stand straight, giving everyone a tight smile.

“Please, enjoy the soap,” and he left, giving them no answer as to what they had been talking about.

** 0o0o0 **

“What’s this I hear about you moving Delano away,” Havelock had found him in the workshop, and effectively cornered him in front of the open luggage. Piero frowned, folding another shirt that had been mended recently, looking starkly new despite how worn it is.

“It is better to have him away than here.”

“And you didn’t think of telling me? What if this poses a problem?”

“What problem? Did you think Delano would tell anyone about what is happening here?”

“He’s a child.”

“He is smart enough to know that this is not advisable.”

“What about his mother? The boy wouldn’t keep any secrets from her, would he?” Havelock demanded, and Piero had to acquis with that logic. They had fallen silent once they heard some rustling movements below.

“Umm, Piero, I brought the jacket you mentioned,” Cecelia yelled.

“Thank you, just put it on the desk! Did you find the overall that he likes?”

“N-No, I’ll look for it now,” she replied before shuffling away.

The duo’s attention turns back to each other.

“Do not worry about it.”

“We are running a conspiracy, Piero. She could report us.”

“She will not.”

“How sure are you of that?”

“First of all, she lives past the blockade, making it infinitely harder to cross back to the lord regent himself and report us. Secondly, she hates watchmen as much as I do, no point in worrying about that.”

“And how are you to send the boy to her if she lives outside of the city?”

“Samuel runs his shipment every few days, one of them is to her place, and Delano can ride with him. In fact, the second shipment would be tomorrow.” He answers, but if Havelock’s reaction were to say anything, it meant that the man was disgusted by him.

“She runs a gang?”

Oh, no wonder. Samuel only does that for the underbelly of the city.

“Not precisely, it's a sort of club.”

“So, you just mix business and pleasure now? Is that the sort of person you are, I thought differently of you.”

“Do _not,_ ” Piero hissed. “Do not presume that my relationship with Delilah has any sort of pleasure attached. I did not want this relationship, and if I could, I would have never met her.”

“You have a _child_ with her!”

“I didn’t ask for that!” Piero yelled back, and Havelock’s expression turned from disgusted, to confusion, before morphing into mortification.

“What?”

“I said, I did not ask for this. Did you _think_ that I would throw myself at her? I dislike her, despise her. She would do anything if it meant that she will gain power.”

“Piero, stop, what do you mean you didn’t ask for it? If that’s so, then- then why are you sending Delano to her?!” Havelock now sounded even more mortified, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him for answers. Which is a very useless gesture, it never worked on him before.

“She,” how was one to explain his situation to an outsider? One with no idea or attachment to magic? “She is talented, brilliant, and one worthy of a person’s attention. She can be cruel to anyone who isn’t her closest, and she _adores_ Delano, cherishes him. She will keep him safe and will give him all the attention he needs. I cannot do that, not here. I have constantly worked and ignored his suffering, and now that Sokolov- now that Sokolov will be brought here …”

They fell silent, Piero looked away, looked through the window, remembering a time long ago filled with hate and anger.

“I do not know if I can handle myself well enough in front of him. He needs stability, something neither I nor the pub can provide. I would have liked not to send him to the manor, but …” He shook his head. “So if you can give me a day off, to deliver him, I would appreciate it."

“We can have Sokolov locked in the Kennel cage, you wouldn’t see him, you wouldn’t need to go-”

“I will still know that he is around, that is useless.”

“You don’t have to go,” Havelock mumbled, and Piero couldn’t help but give the man a noise filled with helplessness. “I will feel more at ease to see him reach his mother.”

“Then you would have to see her.”

“Yes, of course, someone needs to explain things to her.”

“Piero, after what she did, how can you stand that?!”

“… What?”

“Forcing herself on you?!” Havelock yelled.

Piero frowned.

“We talked about it?” He replies slowly, he didn’t understand where the man is coming from. Yes, she forced herself into the ritual, but why would he care? In fact, why would he even have an idea of what he talked about? Did he mention something before? For all anyone knew, Delano is his son completely for all of his life.

“You talked about it,” Havelock’s voice sounded hollow.

“Yes. She will never do it again, not that I think it is possible. Delano is unique-” Piero stopped entirely, and reached for his forehead. He groaned as he realized what was wrong.

“It must be the lingering fever; I cannot think straight, right now. Apologies, Havelock, but can you leave me to rest?” The man had kept staring at him, not answering.

“I’ll send you with someone.”

“Unnecessary, she and her associates will not be pleased.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass if she’s pleased or not.”

“It would be a bore as well, she will most likely gloat the whole time,” the hold on him tightened slightly. “And I would have to negotiate with her to spare some plants for me to test. I think I am close to understanding something about the cure. Did you know that Corvo brought me some blood samples the last time he went out? Of course, they mostly covered his clothes, but it was still valuable. After this whole conspiracy is over, I’ll be able to conduct better experiments, maybe get some live subjects. Maybe Corvo will spare some time to help in that regard? A cure is important if we want this empire to survive at all.”

Havelock took a long ragged breath before letting go of him.

“Take some rest, Piero. I’ll have one of the servants pack.”

“There is no-”

“Piero, go sleep,” Havelock ordered roughly, and Piero grimaced before nodding.

Once the man left, he heard soft footsteps coming up the stairs. He looks at the new arrival and was not surprised to find that it was Cecelia who had featherlight steps. She had her fingers wrung together in a nervous habit as she avoided looking at him.

“Umm … I wanted to say that- that Delano’s already wearing the overalls.”

“Oh, _oh,_ that explains why I could not find it.”

“Yes …” She stood awkwardly, and he waited for her to leave. Surprisingly enough, she looks up and caught his eyes in a brave gesture. “Are you- are you alright?”

“Of course I am, why are you asking?”

“It just seems … that conversation was …”

Piero will ignore the fact that he had been eavesdropped on.

“Havelock can be a bit intense when his plans do not follow the structure.”

“Yes, but- that wasn’t- I mean- Are you alright with her? Your- umm- Delilah?”

“Yes?”

“Alright …” Cecelia looks away once more, and leaves him alone in the workshop as swiftly as possible, without bringing much attention upon herself.

** 0o0o0 **

By evening, he saw Samuel and Corvo reach the quay, with Sokolov unconscious and most likely snoring.

Piero glared down at him, feeling every fiber in his being ready to lit and combust.

The assassin, who confusedly does not assassinate a whole lot, comes to him with concerned eyes. They were not the same concern that Havelock and half the bar have been giving him for the past day, but one of a truly concerned friend that had some news he wasn’t sure how it would be received.

He pulls bars of gold from his pocket and offered them to him. It took a moment for Piero to understand, and he bursts into laughter.

“Did you honestly steal this from his reserves? You are _brilliant._ Absolutely brilliant. Well, tell me what new upgrade you need since we have some money to account for it. I will be leaving in a few days after all, so I can gather some things along the way.”

The man gives him a confused look, his departure is news to him. The man did just get back home.

He left the man alone to think it over, Piero had the vague idea that no one had asked Corvo what he wanted for quite some time, and maybe the option of freedom in that regard could be overwhelming to him.

So, he went up to Samuel.

He wore a vicious grin as he watched Havelock and Martin drag Sokolov out of the boat. If Corvo was able to carry Sokolov for a long trek, he doubted that the two combined would have any problem. But Overseer Martin saw him, and gave him a quaint shrug before pointing at his still bandaged wrists, as if saying, “What could we do?”

Havelock looked like he did not care for the man at all, but knowing the Admiral’s sense of justice, and how Sokolov had built all those machines that are used on the streets nowadays, Piero thinks that he might be taking it out slightly on him for the people that could not.

“When are you going to Brigmore manor next time?” He asks Samuel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   1. Misunderstandings are my game.
>   2. Piero is such an oblivious fuck, this situation isn’t even funny. Still, some kudos for a man who’s willing to set aside differences to keep his children safe. He thinks he’ll turn angry and bitter, and he doesn’t want Delano to see it. But he should work on his communication skills.
>   3. So far, I'm really enjoying passive-aggressive, vindictive, and petty Piero. Pouring my own needs of revenge into one man.
> 



End file.
